UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

AT    LOS  ANGELES 


ROBERT  ERNEST  COWAN 


JOHN    G.    CLAXTON. 
.•tJVitrwrt  >     ! 


WESTERN  AUTHORS'   PUBLISHING  ASSOCIATION. 


NEW  YORK : 

WORLD  BUILDING 


SAN  FRANCISCO : 

DONOHOE  BUILDING, 


1893 


504 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1893.  by 

THE  AUTHOR, 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


Cover  copyrighted  by  Author. 


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304.864 


CHAPTER  FIRST. 


"Bs  wbirlwtnfcs  in  tfoc  soutb  pasa  tbrougb;  00  it  cometb 
from  tbc  fccscrt,  from  a  terrible  land." 

"fot  tbus  batb  tbe  lor&  sail*  unto  me,  '(So  set  a  watcb= 
man,  let  bim  declare  wbat  be  scctb'." 

Jaaiab  rri.    ue 


HELL  WAS  MOVED  ! The  cattle 

stood  still  beneath  a  burning  sun.  Herds  were 
crowded  together  panting  and  breathless.  The 
earth  throbbed  with  an  electric  thrill.  A  tremor 
crept  through  the  herds.  Lightning  flashed. 
The  cattle  started,  lifted  their  heads,  sniffed  the 
air,  bellowed,  reared  and  plunged — then  swept 
on,  wildly,  madly ;  the  dust,  darkness,  and  light 
ning  intermingling  like  the  sulphurous  flames 
of  the  nethermost  depths.  The  powers  of  evil 
united,  changing  the  cattle  to  monsters  that  left 


6  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

desolation  behind  them They  might  have 

been  drawing  the  chariot  of  the  Apocalypse. 

Amidst  all  this,  a  child's  voice  cried  out: 
"Mamma!"  in  appealing,  frightened  tones. 

No  answer  came  to  the  helpless  cry.  The 
strange  sounds  grew  more  appalling.  Into  the 
semi-darkness  an  Indian  leaped  beside  the  child, 
bent  his  ear  to  the  ground,  and  sprang  up.  Then 
touching  the  child,  he  said:  "Be  not  afraid. 
Garangula  will  save  thee!" 

A  struggle  began,  mighty,  swift,  terrible — 
between  one  man  and  a  thousand  affrighted 
beasts. 

Oh,  the  horror  of  that  mad  stampede!  The 
helpless,  hopeless  wrangle  of  hoofs  and  horns; 
the  plunging,  leaping,  struggling  with  all  the 
fury  of  demons ! 

The  Indian  laid  the  child  down,  bared  his 
breast  to  the  foe,  and  sweeping  his  arm  in  a 
circle,  cried  out:  "O  Great  Spirit!" 

The  thunders  rolled  and  muttered  and 
crashed. 

Garangula,  the  Indian,  stood  still.  The  light 
ning  sent  forth  flames  in  hellish  glee.  Then 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  7 

with  the  abandon  of  a  god,  he  flung  himself  on 

the  ground  in  front  of  the  child a  great  bull, 

his  eyes  of  fire,  stilled  like  an  arrested  demon, 
poised  for  an  instant,  and  the  furious  hosts 
divided  and  swept  on. 

By  Garangula's  side  was  a  woman,  whose 
form  radiated  a  strange  light. 

"  Great  Spirit !     Great  Light ! "  he  cried. 


CHAPTER  SECOND. 


•• "Cbe  elements 

So  mired  in  bint,  tbat  "Mature  mtgbt  slant1  up, 
Bnt>  sav  to  all  tbe  worlt>, 
Ubi0  was  a  man." 

Sbafeespeare. 


THE  sun  had  set.  A  crescent  moon  hung  in 
the  sky.  Stray  clouds  passed  each  other  bring 
ing  messages  from  an  unknown  world.  Cattle 
rested  in  sphinx-like  repose,  their  great,  pathetic 
eyes  turned  to  the  hills  beyond.  Over  all  ap 
peared  a  green,  suggestive  of  an  initiation  into 
some  mystic  Order.  One  could  not  look  on  the 
scene  without  deep  reverence  and  a  closer  sym 
pathy  with  all  things. 

Near  a  streamlet,  in  the  Techauana  Valley  of 
Texas,  twelve  or  fifteen  cowboys  flung  them 
selves  on  the  ground. 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.'  9 

Far  away,  on  a  gently  sloping  hill,  stood  a 
man  whose  dark  face,  deepened  by  the  shadows, 
seemed  an  antique  bronze  against  the  sunset  sky. 
In  his  repose,  was  blended  the  strength  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  with  the  grace  of  the  Oriental. 
Raising  his  arm  slowly  toward  the  hills,  he  said : 
"  O  hills  of  beauty !  Garangula's  fathers  called 
ye  Chihuahua!  Ah,  the  Great  Spirit  lingered 
here  then.  Where  are  Garangula's  people? 
Have  they  journeyed  to  the  Happy  Hunting- 
Grounds?  Garangula  looks  up  at  the  great 
lights  in  the  night-time  and  thinks  of  the  Happy 
Hunting-Grounds .  Sometimes  he  hears  a  voice, 
and  again  he  sees  a  light  among  these  hills  and 
rocks.  And  the  Great  Spirit  comes  near  and 
touches  him. 

"  Garangula  has  heard  that  it  is  written  in  the 
white  man's  book :  '  In  the  unknown  past,  when 
the  wily  Indian  Chieftain  led  hither  in  peace 
or  in  conquest,  the  untamed  hearts  of  his 
tribe  to  enjoy  the  worship  of  the  Great  Spirit, 
what  a  thrill  of  delight  must  have  filled  the  war 
rior's  breast  when  he  first  saw  these  hills !  The 
inspiration  must  have  been  divine,  though  in  a 


10  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

savage  breast,  that  made  the  red  man  name  these 
hills  Tehuacana.' 

"  '  Though  in  a  savage  breast ! '  How  differs 
the  white  man  from  the  savage?  And  yet,  as 
Garangula  looks  over  at  the  white  man's  home, 
it  seems  strange — and  something  cries  out  for 
that  which  is  lost." 

An  expression,  like  the  light  rising  in  the  east 
on  a  gray  day,  o'erspread  Garangula's  face.  He 
walked  on.  The  light  grew  brighter,  the  mystic 
green  vibrated  nearer.  He  felt  enveloped  in 
some  mysterious  power. . . . 

A  strange  sight  met  his  gaze.  Round  a 
camp-fire,  beside  his  own  wigwams,  wondrous 
forms  moved  with  the  same  rhythm  he  had 
seen  in  the  waving  boughs;  in  the  birds  as 
they  flew  through  the  air,  and  in  the  waves 
as  his  canoe  floated  down  the  stream.  He  had 
so  lived  in  all  this  beauty  and  poetry  of  motion, 
he  was  not  surprised  at  what  he  saw;  neither 
was  he  surprised  at  their  wonderfully  developed 
forms — he  had  seen  only  Indian  women.  These 
graceful  women  moved  in  softly  flowing  robes. 

With  a  slow,  rhythmic  motion,  floating  dream- 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  II 

ily,  the  curves  and  spirals  blended,  telling  strange 
stories,  interweaving  dim  legends  with  a  dashing 
touch  of  their  own  times.  In  the  soft  twilight 
they  clasped  hands  and  danced  in  a  circle — 
gently  they  sank  in  repose. 

The  Indian  looked  on  with  joy  that  was  holy. 
He  seemed  not  to  breathe.  A  dark  figure  moved 
from  out  the  shadows.  She  held  a  child  in  her 
arms  and  bent  over  the  camp-fire,  singing  in  a 
weird  tone,  as  she  stirred  the  smouldering  embers. 
The  light  flared.  With  a  sudden  inspiration, 
one  of  the  group  sprang  up  and  enacted  a  scene. 
Astarte  and  Dionysius,  Ariadne  and  Bacchus, 
and  all  the  gods  of  lust  sanctioned  her  rites. 
Shades  of  darkness  I  It  was  the  Dance  of  Death. 
Garangula's  face  expressed  no  dismay;  his 
breathing  was  slow  and  deep. 

"  Her  spirit  has  of  the  strange  color  in  the 
rainbow  after  the  storm,"  he  said. 

The  black  figure  still  stirred  the  fire,  and  the 
light  flared  with  a  dying  brilliancy.  The  woman 
mingled  with  the  reflection  and  seemed  a  living 
flame — one  more  spiral  motion  downward  and 
she  disappeared  in  a  shadowy  cave.  The*camp- 


12  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

fire  sank  into  darkness,  the  singing  ceased. 

From  out  the  darkness  arose  the  woman  with 
the  Light  about  her.  The  Indian's  face  was 
illumined.  He  bowed  his  head  and  said  softly : 

"  The  Lamp  of  the  Great  Spirit  is  beneath  her 
feet. 

"  O  Great  Spirit !     O  Holy  Light !  " 


CHAPTER  THIRD. 


tce  Bbepber&'a  slumber,  o  feing  of  Bse>eria;  tbt>  nobles 
sball  dwell  in  tbe  duet;  tb£  people  Is  ecattcrct>  upon 
tbe  mountains,  an&  no  man  gatbcrctb  them." 

Habum  iii.    18. 


THE  woman  whose  spirit  partook  of  the 
strange  color  in  the  rainbow,  looked  at  Her  of 
the  Light,  then  at  the  Indian.  She  knew  they 
had  rescued  her  child — through  what  power  she 
did  not  understand.  Awed  by  the  appearance  of 
the  glorified  form,  the  woman  addressed  herself 
to  Garangula: 

"You  saved  my  child — I  know  not  what  to 
say." 

"Then  say  nothing,  O  beautiful  pale-face," 
he  replied.  "Let  thy  beauty  speak.  Then  it 
becomes  as  the  silence  of  the  stars,  the  skies,  the 


14  SHE  OF  THE   HOLY  LIGHT. 

plains.     Silence  knows  and  speaks  all  things. 
Garangula  hears  it." 

s      "  How  could  you  hear  silence  ?  "  asked  a  little 
girl,  springing  from  the  bough  of  a  tree. 

"  Garangula  listens,"  he  answered  simply. 

The  woman  was  at  a  loss  for  words.  Who 
was  this  strange  man,  in  dress  a  savage,  yet  in 
speech  a  poet?  She,  who  had  moved  among 
kings,  felt  humbled  in  the  presence  of  his  sim 
plicity. 

Jakusa,  the  little  girl,  who  had  been  taking  in 
every  detail,  could  not  restrain  her  curiosity  any 
longer. 

"Are  you  a  real,  live  Indian?  You  don't 
look  quite  like  one ;  tell  us  about  yourself — an 
Indian  story — I  am  dying  to  hear  a  story — any 
thing,  so  it  is  real  Indian." 

They  gathered  around  the  camp-fire.  The 
moonlight  fell  on  the  wigwams,  making  a  back 
ground  for  a  scene  that  was  beautiful,  poetic, 
strange. 

Garangula  sat  by  the  door.  His  robe  fell  in 
folds  on  the  ground,  leaving  his  body  bare  to  the 
waist.  On  his  breast,  joined  with  massive  orna- 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  15 

rnents,  hung  a  row  of  beads,  curiously  wrought. 
His  hair  was  braided  and  looped  with  fox-tails, 
in  his  ears  were  heavy  rings,  and  he  wore  a 
turban  that  contrasted  strangely  with  his  other 
apparel. 

"  There  is  little  to  tell,"  he  began.  "  Garan- 
gula,  the  Indian,  is  a  cowboy,  tending  the  cattle 
by  day,  and  sleeping  on  the  ground  at  night. 
He  cares  for  herds  owned  by  an  Hnglish  lord, 
learning  much  from  him.  He  loves  to  listen  to 
him  read,  telling  of  the  countries  beyond  the 
seas.  The  world  is  large,  as  he  has  dreamed. 

"  Garangula's  mother  belonged  to  the  race  of 
the  red  man,  and  was  stolen  from  her  tribe  by 
the  white  man.  Among  them  was  one  who  had 
come  from  a  far-off  country.  He  loved  her  for  her 
beauty.  He  was  kind  to  her,  but  she  begged  to 
follow  her  people  to  this  place.  The  wigwam 
on  the  side  of  the  hill  yonder,  was  her  home. 
They  have  gone  on  a  journey — the  dwelling- 
place  is  empty.  These  hills  were  left  Garangula 
by  his  father.  He  will  keep  this  spot  wild  and  free 
forever,  so  those  who  have  gone  on  a  journey  to 
the  Happy  Hunting-Grounds  will  come  back,  and 


1 6  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

not  feel  strange.  Garangula  is  glad  the  pale 
faces  have  journeyed  hither  and  tarried  on  his 
ground.  It  may  be  his  people  will  return  now." 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  then  said :  "  Ga 
rangula  was  happy  in  the  wigwam  on  the  side  of 
the  hill,  listening  to  the  stories  his  mother  told 
him.  How  the  white  man  had  driven  her  kindred 
toward  the  setting  sun  till  they  reached  this  spot. 
It  was  once  an  Indian  village.  Over  these 
hills  the  Indians  roamed  as  the  deer,  the  ante 
lope  and  buffalo.  Soon  pale-faces  began  peering 
about,  and  the  white  man  stole  along  the  deep 
ravines  after  dark,  and  measured  the  land. 

"The  war-dance  is  no  longer  seen,  and  the 
echoes  of  the  war-whoop  have  long  since  died  out 
in  the  valleys." 

Garangula  rose,  and  looking  across  the  hills 
and  valleys,  said,  "O,  white  man,  do  you  not  feel 
strange?  You  are  in  the  dwelling-place  of 
another.  The  footprints  of  those  whose  faces 
have  turned  toward  the  west,  cry  out  against  you, 
'  Where  shall  the  Indian  rest  ?  '  Their  wigwams 
are  gone,  their  arms  are  scattered  and  broken — 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  17 

they  have  left  you  no  title  to  these  hills  but 
blood." 

A  movement  from  Jakusa  recalled  him,  and  he 
resumed  his  story. 

"  An  old  man  going  on  a  journey,  bade  Ga- 
rangula  come  to  him.  These  were  the  words  he 
spoke  :  '  Garangula,  listen  !  On  a  day  like  this, 
I  witnessed  the  farewell  of  an  Indian  Chief,  to 
the  hills  the  red  man  loved.  That  grim  and 
massive  warrior  was  thy  grandfather.  He  stood 
on  Rocky  Bluff — the  last  of  his  unnumbered 
tribe,  his  form  erect,  his  arms  folded,  and  head 
thrown  back.  Thus  in  the  glory  of  his  savage 
life,  alone,  unattended,  he  stood  on  the  brow  of 
the  hill  near  thy  home,  and  surveyed  the  scene. 
Then,  with  one  last  farewell  look,  the  Chieftain 
turned,  and  with  bowed  head,  bent  his  course 
toward  the  setting  sun.' ' 

Garangula  was  silent.  His  head  sank  on  his 
breast,  then  he  walked  down  the  valley  whence 
his  ancestor  had  departed. 


CHAPTER  FOURTH. 


"  Bnl>  £  will  mafee  tbem  anD  tbe  places  rounfc  about 
mt  bill  a  JBleesing." 

fijeftiel  rn.    Ver»c  4. 


THE  sunlight  fell  on  the  grand  old  hills  that 
no  longer  echoed  the  Indian  war-whoop. 

In  the  door  of  a  wigwam,  stood  the  woman 
whose  child  was  rescued.  A  number  of  girls 
had  gathered  around  her,  listening.  She  told 
them  a  wonderful  story  of  beauty  and  freedom. 
A  weird  look  came  from  eyes  that  flashed  a 
green  color  in  their  intensity,  giving  the  feeling 
that  this  unknown  woman  knew  more  than  she 
revealed.  A  Greek  nose  with  the  mouth  of  a 
Cleopatra,  displaying  characteristics  so  complex, 
one  was  at  a  loss  to  know  what  race  claimed  her. 

She  was  born  in  Cuba,  it  was  said,  and  yet  a 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  19 

stranger  influence  of  the  stars  took  her  mother, 
early  in  life,  to  New  Orleans,  where  the  daugh 
ter's  character  was  unfolded  in  the  midst  of  the 
brilliant  French  society  that  flourished  in  the 
Crescent  City  of  those  days.  It  was  not  many 
years  before  she  declared  her  freedom  from  its 
conventionalities,  pursuing  life  in  her  own  way, 
which  was  at  variance  with  that  of  people  adher 
ing  strictly  to  every  point  of  the  Decalogue.  It 
was  whispered  that  she  was  a  princess,  whose 
ancestry  dated  to  a  more  remote  period  than  any 
crown  of  the  present  century.  This,  and  her  bril 
liant  beauty  gave  her  access  to  nearly  every 
court  of  Burope.  But  she  returned  with  increas 
ing  affection  to  her  native  home.  "  The  emotions 
and  passions  that  burn  in  my  soul  like  the  fires 
of  hell,  are  in  harmony  with  this  tropical 
country,"  she  would  say.  "  One  could  be  great 
here — if  it  were  worth  the  while. 

"  I  should  dare  to  pluck  yonder  star,  if  I 
wished  it.  Had  I  lived  in  those  olden  days,  I 
should  have  reveled  in  being  a  part  of  an 
emperor's  conquest,  dragged  through  the  streets 
of  Rome.  How  the  world  would  applaud  were 


20  SHE    OF    THE    HOLY    LIGHT. 

iny  voice  heard  in  song!  But  no  one  shall 
know.  The  Master  will  keep  my  secret.  And 
some  day." 

Was  she  a  prophetess,  a  great  teacher,  or 
tempter?  She  breathed  and  moved  as  a  savage 
or  a  goddess,  the  colors  of  her  robe  blending 
and  vibrating  till  one  was  intoxicated.  The 
light,  wonderful  hair,  with  its  tone  of  green  here 
and  there,  was  wound  around  the  head  and  bound 
with  a  fillet  of  gold.  To-day  she  seems  living 
music — a  breathing  poem,  as  she  speaks  to  her 
disciples. 

Beyond,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  stood  She  of 
the  Holy  Light.  The  drapery  about  her  head 
touched  the  softly  flowing  mantle  of  gray,  the 
color  seen  in  the  sky  before  the  sun  bursts  forth. 

She  was  looking  at  a  cave  whose  beauty  had 
been  left  undisturbed  through  all  the  ages.  The 
Indian  had  slumbered  peacefully  on  its  rock  bed 
and  risen  with  the  morning  sun  to  continue  his 
journey,  leaving  behind  him  no  regrets,  no  long 
ings.  A  spring  gushed  from  the  rock  and  flowed 
on  in  the  stillness.  Wild  flowers  grew  in  a  tangle 
round  the  mouth  of  the  cave.  There,  in  the 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  21 

softly  swaying  grass,  with  the  butterflies  light 
ing  on  her  sunny  head,  lay  a  child,  smiling. 
Beside  her,  was  an  Indian  hatchet  and  bits  of 
strange  looking  earthenware. 

The  motion  of  the  grass  grew  swifter,  the  head 
of  a  snake  raised  itself — its  eyes  glistened  in 
the  sun  as  they  became  fixed  for  a  moment  on  the 
woman,  then  glided  toward  the  child.  Soon  it 
coiled  itself  around  the  arm  of  the  child,  who 
playfully  touched  the  spots  of  bright  color,  and 
said,  "  Bootiful,  bootiful,"  then  stroked  it  caress 
ingly.  After  a  time,  the  lids  drooped.  The 
snake's  eyes  looked  out  with  the  expression  that 
has  so  mystic  a  meaning,  and  the  two  slept. 

She  of  the  Holy  Light  said,  "  O  Type  of  Inno 
cence  and  Symbol  of  Wisdom,  sleep  on 

The  secret  of  all  harmony  is  Love." 


CHAPTER  FIFTH. 


lut  be  te  flla*  atrt  rejoice  forever  in  tbat 
wbicb  3  create." 

Jsalab  lev.    18. 


ON  the  spot,  where  the  night  before  the  cow 
boys  had  camped,  stood  a  tall,  fair  girl.  Her 
white  robe,  caught  up  at  the  waist  by  a  girdle, 
fell  in  graceful  lines  to  her  sandalled  feet.  The 
glory  of  morning  was  about  her.  She  held 
in  her  hand  a  curious  water-vessel  found  in 
the  cave.  She  knelt  and  dipped  water  from  the 
spring,  and  placing  the  vessel  on  her  shoulder, 
her  beautiful,  white  arm  reaching  up  to  the 
quaintly-carved  handle,  she  climbed  a  steep, 
rocky  place,  and  stood  watching  the  purple  sea 
in  the  east. 

Taking  the  jug  from  her  shoulder  she  leaned 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  23 

forward,  holding  her  robe  with  one  hand,  and 
said: 

" '  Day  unto  day  nttereth  speech,  and  night 
unto  night  showeth  knowledge.'  Why  cannot  I 
find  knowledge  here  ?  Is  it  because  my  soul  is 
not  in  unison  with  these?  What  are  these? 
What  is  harmony?  We  are  told  the  highest 
expression  of  art  would  be  the  highest  expres 
sion  of  life.  What  is  Art  ?  What  is  Beauty  ? 
Are  Beauty  and  Truth  one  ?  What  is  the  rela 
tion  between  nature  and  truth?  Does  the 
highest  expression  of  Life,  Beauty,  Art,  lead  to 
the  same  end?  " 

Descending  the  cliff,  she  seated  herself  upon  a 
rock,  took  a  paper  from  her  bosom,  and  drew 
curious  figures. 

Then  she  tore  the  paper  into  bits  and  dropped 
them  on  the  ground,  speaking  aloud :  "  *  I 
am  more  and  more  plunged  into  chaos.  The 
more  light  I  receive,  the  darker  it  grows.' 
Will  this  beautiful  art  I  am  studying,  help  my 
soul  to  rise  ?  Will  it  lead  to  that  harmony  of 
being  for  which  I  long  all  the  days.  A  wise 


24  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

man  hath  said :  '  The  soul  which  stops  to  con 
template  its  wings  will  never  rise.' ' 

She  bowed  her  head,  her  lips  moved  in  prayer. 
She  arose,  and  slowly  wandered  on.  The  rays 
of  the  rising  sun  were  playing  on  the  sleepers, 
who  still  dreamed  in  the  wigwams  on  Tehuacana 
Hills.  Soon  Jakusa  bounded  out,  followed  by 
Dixie,  a  big,  black  dog.  Seeing  the  girl  with 
the  water-vessel  on  her  shoulders,  Jakusa  cried: 

"  Rachel,  Rachel,  you  were  a  long  while  at 
the  spring.  But  you  must  be  tired.  Give  me 
the  jug,  I'll  take  it  to  Aunt  Dinah.  See,  she 
is  standing  there  shading  her  eyes  with  her 
hand  and  looking  for  you." 

"How  picturesque  she  looks  in  the  tent  door," 
said  Rachel,  "  the  sun  shining  full  on  her  dark 
face,  bringing  out  her  brilliant  attire! " 

Jakusa  returned;  then  she  and  Rachel  gath 
ered  wild  flowers.  When  they  entered  the  wig 
wams,  they  placed  each  one's  favorite  flower 
beside  the  couch. 

'  These,"  whispered  Jakusa,  with  a  caressing 
touch,  "  are  for  Zulona,  whom  Garangula  called 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  25 

'the  beautiful  pale-face.'  I  wonder  why  you 
always  put  white  flowers  by  Wanda!" 

"  I  wonder  myself,"  replied  Rachel,  as  she 
knelt  and  kissed  the  little  sleeper.  Zulona  was 
its  mother,  but  "  Our  Baby  "  she  was  called,  and 
a  stranger  could  not  have  told  to  whom  she  be 
longed. 

An  interesting  group  they  made,  Rachel  kneel 
ing  over  the  baby  who  lay  in  an  attitude  of 
exquisite  repose.  One  little  hand  was  held  out 
as  though  giving.  Rachel  put  the  flowers  in  the 
hand,  and  smiled  as  she  thought,  "  The  attitude 
of  giving  and  receiving  is  the  same.  The  mean 
ing  may  be  deeper  than  we  know."  % 

Soon  a  deep,  authoritative  voice  rang  out,  "  Is 
you  chillun  'bout  ready  for  breakfas'?  You 
know  ole  Dinah  don't  like  to  wait." 

Aunt  Dinah  ruled  the  domestic  life  of  the 
camp.  She  prepared  their  simple  food  as  no  one 
can  but  those  of  her  race. 

"  Everything  has  so  much  '  expression  '  about 
it,"  said  Jakusa,  as  she  looked  slyly  at  Aunt 
Dinah. 

"  Spression !  spression !     Ole  Dinah  don't  heah 


26  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

nothin'  else  but  dat  nowadays,"  she  replied, 
walking  away  with  great  dignity. 

The  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens  when  Zulona, 
speaking  to  her  followers,  said,  "  Come." 

They  were  soon  standing  on  Rocky  Bluff,  the 
wild,  picturesque  scenery  around  them.  Near 
by,  was  the  wigwam  that  had  been  the  romantic 
home  of  the  dusky  maiden,  whose  dark  beauty 
had  won  the  white  man  from  the  far-off  country. 
Boughs  o'ershadowed,  vines  crept  about  it,  and 
grass  grew  round  the  door.  It  lay  still  and 
peaceful  in  the  shadows,  a  relic  of  another  age. 
One  could  almost  fancy  the  Indian  woman  stand 
ing  in  the  doorway,  looking  out  with  longing 
eyes  across  the  hills  and  valleys.  Was  she 
happy  in  her  captivity?  Then  came  the  picture 
of  her  with  a  papoose  in  her  arms,  the  strange 
eyes  looking  at  her  questioningly.  They  sat 
under  the  trees,  the  long  shadows  about  them ; 
the  child  listened  in  awe  as  she  told  stories  of 
the  pale-faces.  But  the  trees,  the  softly-waving 
boughs,  to  which  they  both  talked  and  listened, 
told  no  stories.  All  was  silence. 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  27 

By-and-by  the  tones  of  a  low,  sweet  voice  were 
heard.  Zulona  said: 

"  The  pictures  have  been  painted  for  us,  but 
we  must  see  them  through  our  own  eyes." 

She  drew  illustrations  from  the  sky,  the  rocks, 
the  trees  and  flowers.  She  gave  a  beautiful  ver 
sion  of  the  wedding  ring,  showing  the  symbol 
ical  meaning  of  color  from  the  lightest  shades  to 
the  most  complex  combinations.  Love  was  por 
trayed  with  the  deep  passion  of  Color.  She  sang 
the  seven  notes  of  music — the  birds  listened. 
A  triumphant  gleam  flashed  from  her  eyes.  She 
showed  the  relation  of  the  seven  notes  to  the 
seven  colors  of  the  rainbow.  Tones  floated  on 
the  air  and  mingled  with  the  colors  till  fancy 
played  one  false,  and  he  saw  the  rainbow  hung 
above  him  —  each  hue  singing.  She  spoke  of 
Beauty,  declaring  Ugliness  to  be  a  crime. 

These  were  the  last  words  Zulona  spoke  on 
Tehuacana  Hills. 

In  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  She  of  the 
Holy  Light  said:  "  Ah,  they  do  not  understand. 

I  cannot  reveal  to  them The  time 

is  not  yet." 


CHAPTER  SIXTH. 


"  ©n  bilMope  sown  a  little  corn 

like  Lebanon  witb  fruit  eball  bend; 
•new  life  tbe  cits  eball  a&orn; 
Sbc  eball  lihc  grass  grove  an&  ertenfc. 
pealm  72=9. 


IT  was  high.  noon.  Garangula  walked  toward 
the  wigwams  on  the  hills.  The  memory  of  that 
evening  was  as  a  vision ....  He  drew  near  the 
spot ....  no  gentle  voices,  no  motion  of  the  birds 
and  waves  greeted  him.  It  had  been  a  vision 
then.  He  looked  long  and  earnestly — he  moved 
towards  the  door  by  which  he  had  sat.  A  paper 
was  fastened  near ;  there  was  writing  on  it.  Ah, 
he  could  spell  its  meaning,  thanks  to  the  Eng 
lish  lord.  It  was  with  difficulty,  however,  that 
he  mastered  the  words : 

"  May  those  who  "have  gone  on  a  journey  to 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY    LIGHT.  2 9 

the  Happy  Hunting-Grounds,  come  to  the  dwell 
ing-place  of  Garangula,  the  Indian,  and  not  feel 
strange." 

He  folded  the  paper,  put  it  in  his  bosom,  and 
entered  the  wigwam.  All  was  still.  The  valleys 
slept.  The  great  plains  stretched  away  in 

silence The  shadows  on  the  hills  grew  dim, 

the  cattle  began  to  low,  the  songs  of  birds  be 
came  fainter  and  fainter,  the  snake  uncoiled 
itself  and  slipped  away  in  the  dark  shadows  of 
the  cave.  But  still  the  Indian  moved  not.  He 
sat  on  the  ground,  his  head  bent  forward,  his 
eyes  trying  to  pierce  through  all  earthly  vision. 
....  The  moon  hung  full  and  round  in  the  heav 
ens.  The  Indian  stepped  forth. 

"  O  Great  Spirit,"  he  said,  his  face  turned  up 
ward,  "O  Great  Spirit,  guide  Garangula,  the 
Indian.  O,  ye  hills  and  valleys  and  plains, 
Farewell!" 


CHAPTER  SEVENTH. 


'"toast  tbou  entered  into  tbe  spring  of  tbe  sea?  or 
bast  tbou  walhcs  in, tbe  scarcb  of  tbe  fceptb?" 
3ob  38=16. 


THE  tears  over  parting  from  those  who  have 
become  dear  to  us,  the  joys  at  beholding  them 
again;  the  very  griefs  and  tragedies  of  this 
world  prove  that  humanity  is  good  the  world 
over,  and  that  its  heart-strings  throb  in  sympathy 
always.  The  departure  or  return  of  a  steamer, 
bringing  to  mind  the  uncertainty  of  life  on  the 
billows,  recalls  this  with  great  force.  Those  who 
have  no  personal  interest  give  a  blessing  as  the 
vessel  leaves,  a  welcome  when  she  returns. 

On  a  May  morning,  when  the  steamer/'  Martha 
Washington,"  moved  slowly  from  the  New  York 
harbor,  there  was  a  group  on  board  who  did  not 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  31 

correspond  to  the  usual  stereotyped  list  of  pas 
sengers.  On  the  forward  deck,  stood  Zulona  in 
a  green-bronze  costume,  the  green  silk  hood 
drawn  far  over  her  brow  that  had  a  shade  of  sad 
ness  on  it  as  she  looked  back  at  the  shore,  and 
wondered  what  the  future  held  for  her.  Close 
by,  stood  a  woman,  whose  robe  reminded  one  of 
the  dove's  breast  and  the  olive  leaf.  Some  old 
market  women  looked  at  her,  and  said:  u  It  is  a 
good  omen ;  she  will  bring  luck  to  the  ship." 

Jakusa,  in  a  blue  sailor  costume,  was  investi 
gating  the  ship  and  already  making  the  acquain 
tance  of  the  deck  hands,  Dixie  by  her  side 
equally  interested.  Aunt  Dinah  sat  on  a  camp- 
stool,  her  red  kerchief  tied  on  her  head  with  the 
artistic  effect  of  negro  simplicity.  At  the  further 
end  of  the  deck  was  Rachel  in  a  white  flannel 
dress;  she  held  Wanda  in  her  arms,  a  thick, 
white  shawl  wound  around  her  and  the  child, 
her  face  looking  far  out  at  sea.  As  the  ship 
glided  away  in  the  distance,  the  folds  of  the 
white  shawl  seemed  clouds.  She  looked  a  Ma 
donna  'twixt  sea  and  sky. 

The  "  Martha   Washington "  was  far  out   at 


32  SHE  OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

sea.  The  group  that  attracted  so  much  atten 
tion  when  sailing,  were  sitting  in  silence.  Zulona 
moved  her  arm  toward  the  sea,  and  spoke  aloud : 

"  Grand  old  sea,  your  power  to  grasp  and  slay, 
and  with  next  morning's  sun  to  move  majesti 
cally  over  the  ruin  you  have  wrought,  fills  me 
with  a  wild,  intoxicating  delight.  I  envy  you! " 

A  voice  softly  whispered:  "  '  And  there  shall 
be  no  more  sea.' ' 

At  last,  Zulona's  mood  changed.  She  said: 
"  Rachel,  look  at  the  waves  and  you  will  learn  a 
great  lesson.  Close  your  eyes  and  feel  their 
influence.  Do  you  recognize  the  difference  be 
tween  this  and  the  waving  boughs  of  the  trees  ? 
How  subtle  that  influence  is!  All  rhythmic 
motion  is  salutary.  There  is  a  rhythm  that  ex 
cites  one  like  martial  music.  I  felt  this  keenly 
when  in  the  Zoological  Gardens,  I  saw  a  Bengal 
tiger  striding  up  and  down  his  cage — I  had  the 
same  emotions  when  Salvini  came  on  the  stage, 
before  the  murder  of  Desdemona.  And  so  we 
might  continue,  from  the  tranquil  murmur  of 
the  meadow  brook  to  the  cyclone  that  sweeps 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  33 

the  forest — from  the  light  clouds  on  a  summer 
day  to  the  motion  of  the  heavenly  spheres." 

"  I  don't  understand,  if  the  waves  are  so '  rhyth 
mic  '  as  you  say,  why  they  should  make  me  so 
awful  sick,"  said  Jakusa. 

Net  waiting  for  an  answer,  she  glanced  at  the 
woman  of  the  Holy  Light. 

"Will  you  tell  me?" 

"  My  child,  it  is  because  you  are  not  in  har 
mony.  You  have  a  force  within  you  that  can 
overcome  all  things." 

Jakusa's  face  brightened,  and  she  went  skip 
ping  down  the  deck  singing : 

"  'Love  your  neighbor  as  yourself, 

As  the  world  you  go  traveling  thro'; 
Never  sit  down  and  frown, 
But  paddle  your  own  canoe.'  " 

She  whirled,  came  dancing  back,  and  stopping 
in  front  of  Aunt  Dinah,  began  telling  stories. 
When  she  had  finished,  she  balanced  on  one  toe 
and  shocked  Aunt  Dinah  with  a  glimpse  of  bal 
let  life. 

"Bress  my  soul!  Whar  did  you  learn  dat? 
On  *  de  Bowery '  ?  Tears  to  me  dat's  whar  you 
larned  'most  eberthing  you  know  —  must  be  a 


34  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

awful  place;  you  ought  to  be  thankful  to  de 
good  Lawd  you  is  fell  in  good  han's.  Whar  did 
you  say  she  foun'  you  ?  " 

"  In  the  slums,  Aunt  Dinah.  You  don't  know 
where  that  is,  but  she  found  me  there,  in  rags, 
crying  for  bread,  for  I  was  so  hungry.  The 
angel  took  me  with  her.  Do  you  remember  the 
day  we  reached  the  wigwams?  " 

"  Yes,  Law' — forgit  dat  day  ?  Neber !  Dat  look 
on  her  face  skeered  ole  Dinah  so  she  dropped  de 
ash-cake,  jes'  as  she  had  it  ready  to  eat." 

Jakusa  laughed, — "  She  frightened  me  once." 

"  She  ought  to  skeer  you  ofiner  dan  she  do." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Dinah,  you  don't  know  how  much 
I'm  improved — why  they  wouldn't  know  me  on 
the  Bowery  now." 

"Good  thing  fur  you.  I  wonder  she  don't 
shake  the  life  outin  you  sumtime." 

"  She  just  looks  at  me,"  smiled  Jakusa.  Then 
going  nearer,  she  whispered:  "Did  I  ever  tell 
you  about  the  time  when  I  had  a  swearing  fit  on 
me,  and  how  she  looked  at  me?  " 

"No,"  said  Aunt  Dinah,  in  awed  tones,  "tell 
me." 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  35 

"  Well,  one  day  I  was  so  tired  of  being  good, 
tired  of  seeing  everyone  else  good,  I  felt  I  must 
do  something.  I  went  by  myself  and  began  to 
swear,  imagining  my  companion  who  talked  to 
me.  I  swore  for  both  of  us.  I  said  everything 
I  had  ever  heard,  and  then  drew  on  my  imagina 
tion,  which  is  bigger  in  that  line  than  some 
people's  bank  accounts.  How  I  enjoyed  it! 
More  than  anything  I  had  known  since  my  first 
square  meal.  All  at  once,  in  the  middle  of  my 
most  heavy  part,  as  the  stage  players  say,  my 
tongue  suddenly  stopped — it  wouldn't  move — I 
tried  it  until  I  began  to  choke,  but  no  use.  Then 
a  strange  feeling  came  over  me,  I  grew  fright 
ened  and  started  to  run,  but  stopped,  for  there 
the  angel  stood,  with  a  Light  in  her  face,  I  can't 
tell  you  what  it  looked  like,  but  it  made  me  fall 
on  my  knees  and  begin  to  say,  ^Now  I  lay  me' — " 

"  Den  did  she  shake  you?  She  ought  to.  ef 
she  didn't." 

"No,  she  just  looked  at  me." 

The  two  were  silent  a  moment,  then  Jakusa 
continued:  "Do  you  know,  Aunt  Dinah,  I  get 
awfully  tired  of  civilized  life,  they  call  it?" 


36  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

She  was  sitting  on  a  steamer-chair,  her  head 
bent  over  her  knee,  looking  a  comical  picture  of 
dejection.  u  But  I  don't  get  tired  so  much  now 
as  I  did  at  first." 

"  Humph ! "  and  Aunt  Dinah's  nose  went  up 
in  the  air  as  she  tied  the  handkerchief  on  her 
head  a  little  tighter.  The  two  were  alone  on 
deck,  the  others  having  gone  to  dinner — they  had 
dined  at  the  children's  hour,  much  to  Jakusa's 
disgust. 

"  You  'peared  ter  enjoy  yoursef  mighty  at  the 
wigwums,"  said  Aunt  Dinah. 

"That  wasn't  like  civilized  life;  it  was  better. 
I  don't  know  what  it  was,  but  I  liked  it.  And 
the  Indian  was  grand,  wasn't  he?  He  made  me 
think  of  a  man  I  saw  once  in  a  place  where  my 
father  took  me  —  it's  a  real  nice  story,  Aunt 
Dinah ;  let  me  tell  it  to  you,"  and  Jakusa  bright 
ened  at  the  thought  of  a  new  conquest. 

"You're  gwine  to  tell  me  de  truf  now,  chile?" 

"  I  declare,"  and  Jakusa  held  up   her  hand. 

"  When  you  does  dat,  I  know  it's  so — you  is  a 
honest  chile  when  you  declar'  fo'  de  L/awd.  But 
la',  how  you  do  fool  ole  Dinah  sumtimes,  tellin* 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  37 

your  great,  long  stories,  er  puttin'  in  eberything 
and  me  so  enjoyin'  it,  and  when  jes'  at  de  end 
you  clap  yo'  han's  an'  say  you  made  it  up  ebery 
"bit.  You'se  a  smart  chile,  Jak." 

"  And  yoiir  ghost  stories,  Aunt  Dinah,  are  they 
all  true?"  asked  Jakusa,  smiling. 

"  Ebery  one  uv  'em,  I  declar'  fo'  goodness," 
she  replied,  shaking  her  head  solemnly  and  mov 
ing  her  body  to  and  fro.  "  I  neber  see  a  chile, 
Jak,  as  could  'member  like  you;  'pears  to  me 
like  you  neber  forgits  anyt'ing,  an'  how  glib  you 
does  say  off  dem  lessons ! " 

"That's  because  I  hate  'em  so;  I  study  just 
as  hard  as  I  can  that  I  may  get  through." 

u  Oh,  dat's  it,  am  it?  But  go  long  wid  yo' 
story." 

"  Well,  my  father  took  me  to  a  place  once, 
where  they  drink  and  play  cards  and  swear.  Oh, 
it  was  awful,  but  I  liked  it.  People  stirred  and 
moved  and  I  could  breathe  there."  Then  she 
portrayed  the  scenes  as  only  a  child  can,  grow 
ing  more  and  more  eloquent  as  the  wide  eyes 
and  mouth  of  her  auditor  encouraged  her. 

When  ready  for  the  climax,  Jakusa  rose  and 

.'504864 


38  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

acted  the  scene,  not  without  effect  —  hers  was 
a  receptive  nature  that  had  spent  its  tender- 
est  years  among  tragic  scenes,  and  she  had 
learned  much  of  expression  at  the  wigwams. 

"  In  the  midst  of  all  this,"  she  said,  "  a  woman 
screamed — such  a  scream!  I  can  hear  it  now. 
At  the  door  a  big,  burly  man  was  dragging  her 
by  her  long,  jet-black  hair.  She  was  as  white  as 
the  ghost  you  tell  about,  Aunt  Dinah ;  her  very 
lips  were  white,  and  her  large,  black  eyes  were 
the  most  beautiful  I  ever  saw.  The  brute 
dragged  her  with  her  face  turned  upwards.  I 
was  awfully  frightened,  and  a  rough-looking, 
but  kind  man,  took  me  up  in  his  arms.  I  looked 
down  on  her  face;  it  was  so  pale.  It  was  all 
done  so  quickly  and  yet  I  remember  everything. 
When  she  screamed  a  splendid-looking  young 
fellow,  who  was  playing  cards,  sprang  up  and 
rushed  to  her. 

"  %  By  what  right  do  you  interfere? '  the  ruffian 
cried. 

" '  By  the  eternal  right  of  manhood,'  the  young 
man  answered,  and  his  voice  rang  out  like  a  bell. 
A  pistol  flashed — in  a  second  I  was  on  the  floor, 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  39 

and  the  man  who  held  me,  struck  the  pistol  up. 
The  ball  whizzed  over  the  young  man's  head  and 
lodged  in  the  ceiling.  It  was  an  awful  time,  but 
the  woman  was  saved.  Wasn't  he  brave  to  stand 
there  and  defy  that  brute,  when  he  knew  he 
was  in  danger  of  his  Hfe?  Oh,  I  think  it  was 
grand,"  and  Jakusa  bounded  away  quite  satis 
fied  with  the  effect  of  her  recital  on  Aunt  Dinah 
and  two  or  three  sailors,  who  had  stopped  to 
listen. 

"  I  wonder  fo'  de  Lawd  ef  dat  chile  been  tellin' 
me  mo'  lies!  Jak,"  she  called,  "come  back  and 
talk  sum  mo'.  I  ain't  had  no  time  to  ax  you 
questions  befo'.  How  ole  is  you,  Jak?  " 

"Don't  know — think  I  am  about  thirteen  — 
they  didn't  celebrate  birthdays  much  where  I 
was  a  'cub'." 

u  You'se  been  about  lots  fur  a  gal  of  yo'  age, 
hain't  you  ?  " 

Jakusa,  forgetting  they  were  on  the  sea,  said, 
with  an  imitative  air  of  wisdom :  "  Oh,  a  bit — 
I've  been  from  one  end  of  this  continent  to  the 
other.  My  parents  used  to  drag  me  from  place  to 
place — at  least,  my  father  did,  and  my  poor 


40  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

mother  had  to  go.  She  had  to  sing  in  the 
streets,  and  such  singing,  Aunt  Dinah,  I  never 
heard.  And  ever  since  the  Angel  found  me,  we 
have  been  traveling.  We  went  way  to  California, 
through  Mexico,  in  the  South,  and  at  last  stopped 
at  the  wigwams  longer  than  anywhere.  And, 
Aunt  Dinah,"  she  moved  closer  and  spoke  in 
a  lower  tone,  "  we  did  go  to  some  of  the  most 
out-of-the-way  places,  and  went  in  the  strangest 
way.  Sometimes  in  the  night  she'd  wake  me  up 
and  say,  ( We  must  go,'  and  we  would  start  out 
in  the  darkness.  She  always  got  to  places  where 
somebody  was  sick  or  starving  to  death.  Some 
times  we  went  to  fine  houses  and  everything 
would  be  grand,  but  it  was  always  the  same.  I 
began  to  think  everybody  in  the  world  was  sorry 
about  something,  till  we  reached  the  wigwams, 
where  all  seemed  different.  Sometimes  we  stayed 
many  weeks  at  the  great  places,  and  I  was  hap 
pier  when  we  got  to  poor  people,  they  seemed 
more  contented.  The  Angel  was  always  the 
same,  and  everybody  looked  at  her  sort  of 
scared." 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  41 

"Don't  blame  'urn,"  said  Aunt  Dinah;  "she's 
enuf  to  skeer  enybody." 

"You  ought  to  get  her  to  tell  you  a  story, 
Aunt  Dinah." 

"  '  Feard  to — I  bet  she's  seen  ghosts." 


CHAPTER  EIGHTH. 


"Cbc$  shall  lift  up  tbeir  voice,  tbev  shall  sfrui 
for  tbe  majesty  of  tbe  Xort>,  tbes  shall  cr^ 
aloub  from  tbe  sea." 

3saiab  24=14. 


IT  was  night.  All  was  quiet  aboard  the  ship, 
"Martha  Washington,"  and  but  for  the  waves 
washing  on  her  sides,  no  sound  was  heard. 
Venus  was  rising,  throwing  a  path  of  light  over 
the  sea.  The  voices  of  the  stars  spoke  of 
strange  and  sudden  dangers.  Their  echoes  were 
heard  in  illimitable  space,  and  the  Silence  an 
swered,  "My  power  is  greater  than  all.  The 
rest  is  in  me." 

She  of  the  Holy  Light  stood  alone  upon  the 
deck,  the  stillness  of  that  fated  night  about  her. 
The  heavens  were  cloudless,  the  sea  was  calm, 
danger  seemed  far  away.  She  looked  toward  the 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  43 

east.  Who  can  describe  her?  No  one  can  say 
aught  but  this,  her  face  wore  the  look  of  Eternal 
Power  and  Eternal  Youth. 

The  waning  moon  cast  a  pale  light  upon  the 
waves  as  the  ship  went  on  her  way.  The  pas 
sengers  slumbered  and  dreamed  of  meeting 
friends  on  the  morrow,  for  the  journey  was  well- 
nigh  ended. 

From  the  stars  the  voices  spake  again,  and 
the  Silence  answered,  "  I  am  Eternal  I "  A 
shadow  passed  over  the  face  of  the  moon — the 
stars  disappeared,  one  by  one,  as  dark  clouds 
rose  on  the  horizon.  Gradually  the  approach 
ing  dawn  darkened,  fog  stole  over  the  heavens 
and  the  sea.  Soon  a  fog  bell  is  heard.  There  is 
movement  on  deck.  The  fog  thickens — the  sky 
and  sea  grow  darker.  The  dread  sound  is  heard 
again  and  again.  The  captain's  voice  is  hoarse 
and  indistinct  as  he  cries  out  his  orders — the 
pilot  stands  on  the  bridge ....  She  of  the  Holy 
Light  is  unobserved.  She  speaks  aloud — her 
voice  sounds  like  the  whisperings  of  £eace : 

"  O  Thou  Who  rulest  the  stars !  Thou  Who 
art  All  in  all !  I  call  to  Thee ! " 


44  SHE  OF  THE   HOLY  LIGHT. 

The  fog  spreads  over  the  ship  like  a  pall.  The 
waves  grow  higher,  the  ship  sways,  moves 
slower — ceases ....  and  the  pilot  hears  a  sound 
more  ominous  than  the  bells.  Clearing  the  fog 
and  the  blackness,  a  huge  object  becomes  visible; 
the  pilot  sees  it  and  shivers.  It  is  a  ship !  The 
resting  vessel  is  powerless — nearer,  nearer. 

Oh,  God!     Can  nothing  avert  the  doom ! 

A  great  cry  goes  up  in  the  night. 

The  ships  heave  and  roll  and  cling  like  mon 
sters  of  the  deep,  struggling  for  life.  The  un 
known  vessel  gives  one  strong  shiver,  her  masts 
are  still  a  moment,  then  fall  to  the  sea.  Confu 
sion  reigns.  Piercing  cries  of  women  and  chil 
dren  rise  above  the  frenzied  curses  of  men,  as 
they  rush  frantically  in  and  out  of  the  dark 
ness — the  yellow  lights  falling  on  horror,  despair, 
resignation. 

Heaven !     Is  there  no  help  ? 

"The  time  has  come,"  said  She.  A  Light  so 
radiant  envelops  her,  the  terror-stricken  people 
pause.  $he  stands  there  a  living  Invocation 
'twixt  man  and  God. 

Lo!   the  Light  o'erspreads  the  scene.      The 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  45 

people  stand  in  awe.  The  Light  grows  more 
and  more  radiant  about  them 

All  is  silence The  boats  glide  to  and 

fro The  perishing  people  rescued,  the  ill- 
fated  ship  careens  lower  and  lower  on  its  side, 
and  disappears. 

The  Light  intensified  into  a  blaze  of  Glory 

. .  then  vanished. 


CHAPTER  NINTH. 


"OHe,  ignorant  of  ourselves, 
JSeg  often  our  own  barms,  wbtcb  tbe  wise  powers 
Den?  us  for  our  goofc;  so  finZ>  we  profit 
3Bs  losing  our  praters." 

Sbafcespeare. 


THE  Master  stood  among  his  disciples.  He 
said:  "Art  is  the  soul  revealing  itself.  — It  is  a 
mystic  Incarnation." 

No  one  noticed  a  tall  woman,  closely  veiled, 
enter  the  room  and  seat  herself  in  the  shadow. 
Many  hours  the  Master  continued  talking  of  the 
Revelation. 

At  last,  one  by  one,  the  pupils  reluctantly 
departed.  He  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

The  woman  rose  and  drew  aside  the  heavy 
veil — "Zulona!"  he  cried. 


SHE   OF  THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  47 

"No,  not  the  Zulona  thou  didst  know,  Master," 
she  whispered,  brokenly.  "Her  voice  is  gone. 
She  is  no  longer  Zulona." 

"Great  God!  What  hast  thou  done?"  He 
looked  at  her  keenly — this  man  who  read  men's 
souls. 

"  Thou  hast  committed  a  crime  I "  he  said. 
"Why  come  to  me?  I  am  not  a  priest." 

"Aye,  thou  art  a  high  priest,  O  Master,  and  I 
come  to  thee.  Wearily  have  I  worked  my  way — 
in  poverty  and  disguise.  Restore  my  voice." 

"Go,  purge  thy  soul  first,"  he  answered. 
Then  tenderly,  as  a  father,  he  laid  one  hand 
on  her  head,  while  the  other  touched  the  white 
cross  on  his  breast.  "Child,  confess." 

A  shiver  ran  through  her  frame. 

"  I  will  not,"  she  answered. 

He  frowned.  A  moment,  and  his  face  soft 
ened. 

"  I  will  lead  thee  back  to  thy  former  soul-life ; 
thou  wilt  yet  know  the  truth  within  thine  own 
soul." 

"  Not  yet,  not  yet,"  she  whispered. 

"  Thou,  my  first  great  pupil,"  he  said  mourn- 


48  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

fully,  "  Thou,  who  couldst  sing  as  mortal  ne'er 
sang  before.  Glad  am  I —  yes,  I  rejoice  that  I 
took  thee  no  further." 

"  I  know  much,  my  Master." 

"  Yea,  yea,"  he  replied,  "  but  thou  didst  not 
enter  the  Holy  of  Holies." 

Her  head  drooped  low  on  her  breast.  At  last 
she  looked  up  defiantly  and  said :  "I  will  restore 
my  own  voice.  I  will  yet  move  the  world. 
Until  then,  I  will  give  the  knowledge  I  have  of 
thy  teachings.  When  not  moved,  I  can  still 
speak  in  sweet  tones ;  aye,  not  long  ago,  among 
the  hills,  I  sang  the  seven  notes."  There 
flashed  the  same  triumphant  look  seen  when  on 
Tehuacana  Hills. 

"  Farewell."  The  veil  was  drawn,  and  with 
a  panther-like  movement  she  passed  from  the 
room. 

The  Master  sighed. 

Softly,  like  the  sounds  of  ^3j)olian  harps,  a 
voice  spoke  to  him — the  room  was  full  of  light. 
The  Master  listened,  his  eyes  burning. 

"  Be  not  discouraged,"  said  the  voice.  "  The 
veiled  woman  goes  forth,  continuing  her  strange 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  49 

journey  in  life.  She  will  at  last  faithfully 
represent  thy  doctrine.  Thou  shalt  yet  be 
glorious  among  those  who  love  Art  as  that 
akin  to  the  divine." 

The  voice  ceased.  The  sunlight  fell  through 
the  half-open  door,  and  touched  the  cross  on  his 
breast.  The  great  Master  was  alone. 


CHAPTER  TENTH. 


"B  man'0  gift  maftetb  room  for  b(m,  at^  brfngetb 
bim  before  ijrcat  men." 

proverbs  is=io. 


IN  the  suburbs  of  one  of  the  capitals  of  the 
old  world,  stood  a  palace;  though  partly  in 
ruins,  its  main  features  had  been  preserved  for 
more  than  five  centuries.  A  high  wall  of  solid 
masonry  enclosed  grounds  of  many  acres.  Its 
massive  gates  of  iron  were  opened  but  once  in 
seven  days;  all  who  entered,  must  tarry  until 
that  time  elapsed.  This,  with  the  past  history 
of  the  palace  and  the  peculiarities  of  the  present 
owner,  made  it  one  of  singular  interest.  Mazaro, 
the  owner,  could  boast  a  long  line  of  noble  ances 
tors  who  had  spent  their  lives  in  seclusion.  This, 
no  doubt,  unfolded  in  him  the  wish  to  see 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  51 

and  know  all  humanity,  and  his  whole  life  was 
devoted  to  the  study  of  what  he  called  human 
nature.  Sympathetic  he  was  not,  but  possessed 
with  an  inordinate  desire  of  knowing,  merely  for 
the  power  that  knowledge  brings.  Those  less 
informed,  spoke  of  him  as  a  mystic.  It  was  said 
that  they  who  tarried  in  the  Strange  Palace,  left 
with  a  new  and  greater  power.  The  gates  were 
opened  to  the  world,  and  perhaps  no  place  ever 
entertained  such  dissimilar  characters.  Those 
of  peculiar  religious  views,  refugees  from  every 
country,  poor  people  glad  of  shelter,  gathered 
there.  It  was  the  rendezvous  of  conspirators; 
and  members  of  secret  societies  who  led  a 
thought-life,  which  stamped  them  dreamers  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world.  All  confided  their  ambitions 
and  aspirations  to  Mazaro,  believing  him  in 
sympathy  with  them,  whereas  he  merely  studied 
them  as  the  scientist  does  his  subject.  Artists 
were  delighted  with  the  picturesque  ruins  and 
quaint  old  art  gallery,  containing  works  by  mas 
ters  long  forgotten.  There  were  rooms  represent 
ing  every  nation.  The  one  containing  ivories  was, 
perhaps,  the  most  interesting,  telling  the  sad  tale 


52  SHE  OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

of  human  brutality  and  savagery.  Mazaro's  im 
mense  wealth,  and  old  title  gave  him  place  in  the 
highest  circles  of  society.  His  visits  there,  how 
ever,  were  not  returned  save  when  some  debutante 
or  distinguished  stranger  was  introduced.  It 
was  a  like  occasion  that  caused  a  company  of 
the  artistic  world  to  pass  through  the  gates  one 
morning  in  early  summer. 

The  opening  of  the  theatrical  court  in  the 
palace,  unused  since  the  days  when  the  stage  was 
under  royal  patronage,  gave  an  additional  inter 
est  to  this  occasion.  The  rays  of  the  afternoon 
sun  fell  aslant  the  court  that  had  been  almost 
transformed  into  an  Egyptian  temple.  On  either 
side  of  the  stage,  open  to  the  sky,  sat  a  sphinx. 
Music  faint  and  low  vibrated  in  the  temple. 
Mazaro  appeared,  leading  Zulona.  Her  jewels 
flashed  with  a  strange  brilliancy;  the  drapery 
about  her  head  intensified  the  expression  of  her 
eyes  till  she  seemed  a  sorceress.  Had  the  sphinx 
revealed  to  her  the  Great  Problem  ? 

She  speaks.  Her  deep  tones,  soft,  sweet,  flute- 
like,  float  through  the  court.  The  voice  is  the 
same  that  rivaled  the  birds  on  Tehuacana  Hills. 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  53 

The  words  uttered,  are  a  fitting  accompaniment 
to  the  surroundings. 

"This  great  philosophy  is  based  upon  man's 
being.  The  expression  of  this  nature  comprises 
the  whole  sum  of  life — expression  so  replete  no 
man  comprehends." 

In  a  lengthy  discourse,  spoken  in  a  language 
which  she  enunciated  with  a  faint,  foreign  accent, 
she  told  of  man's  enchainment,  and  how  he 
might  be  released. 

The  musician,  the  sculptor,  the  painter,  the 
actor,  the  poet,  learned  that  every  sound,  motion, 
form  and  attitude  have  their  meaning,  more 
definite  and  complete  than  words.  The  reason 
was  given  for  their  inherent  and  conventional 
meaning. 

Then  came  the  relation  of  these  to  their  coun 
terpart,  that  made  the  musician  listen  breath 
lessly. 

The  music  echoes  through  the  ruins  of  the 
palace.  It  steals  through  the  court.  Zulona's 
body  sways  and  moves  with  a  rhythm  mesmeric. 
The  music  grows  stronger,  the  motion  becomes 
more  complex.  One  need  not  be  told  it  expresses 


54  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

all  the  passions;  lie  sees,  feels,  lives  them 
with  her.  Now,  she  is  a  village  maiden  waiting 
for  a  lover,  and  as  easily  becomes  a  Cleo 
patra  reclining  on  a  luxurious  couch,  surrounded 
by  slaves.  The  transition  from  anger  to  horror, 
from  terror  to  ecstasy  and  insanity,  is  made  with 
lightning-like  rapidity.  She  seems  Tragedy  in 
carnate — an  infuriated  goddess,  an  Amazon,  and 
suddenly  Medusa  stares  beneath  the  short  curls 
that  are  living  snakes,  moving  and  coiling  about 
her  head.  When  she  reaches  ecstasy,  a  shiver 
runs  through  the  audience;  her  eyes  glare  in 
insanity,  the  fillet  is  torn  from  her  hair,  that  falls 
in  waves  over  the  shoulders.  With  a  sudden 
movement,  the  arm  is  drawn  above  the  face; 
crouching,  she  leers  at  them  through  the  gold 
veil. 

Then,  like  a  broken  flower,  she  droops,  sinks 
lower,  and  swoons  beside  the  sphinx. 


CHAPTER  ELEVENTH. 


Come  se  near  unto  me,  bear  ye  tbis;  3  bave  not 
spofccn  in  secret  from  tbe  beginning;  from  tbe 
time  'that  it  was,  tbere  am  5:    an?  now  tbe 
lore  (Boo,  ano  bis  Spirit,  batb  sent  me." 
3saiab,  Cbap.  47,  t6tb  verse. 


AT  the  gates  of  the  Strange  Palace,  Garangula 
stood  waiting;  in  his  countenance  that  mys 
terious  look,  indefinable,  save  to  those  who 
live  the  faith-life. 

Since  early  dawn  he  had  stood  there. 
By-and-by,  the  servants  assembled  in  the 
grounds,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  guests. 
Mazaro  walked  down  the  broad  avenue  to  give 
the  signal  for  the  opening  of  the  gates. 

His  eyes  fell  upon  Garangula,  who  entered  as 
the  gates  opened.  Garangula  crossed  his  hands 


56  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

on  his  breast  and  said,  "  O,  Chief  of  this  dwell 
ing-place!  Garangula,  the  Indian,  seeks  the 
beautiful  pale-face." 

"What  pale-face  seekest  thou,  O,  handsome 
Garangula,"  inquired  Mazaro,  adopting  the  In 
dian's  manner  of  speech. 

"  Dost  thou  not  know  ?  She  is  the  child  of 
the  sun.  Her  eyes  are  stars.  She  moves  like 
the  wild  animals  on  the  plains." 

Mazaro  was  a  man  who  thought  rapidly, 
planned  as  he  thought,  and  executed  without 
delay. 

"Zulona— ?"  said  he. 

"The  star-eyed  pale-face,"  Garangula  replied. 

Mazaro  had  never  before  seen  a  man  who  so 
typified  the  ideal  of  masculine  grace,  as  Garan 
gula.  Mazaro  loved  the  beautiful  regardless  of 
what  it  expressed.  He  would  make  himself  the 
owner  of  Garangula,  as  he  would  of  a  sleek  and 
graceful  animal.  The  companion  that  he  wanted, 
was  not  so  much  for  thoughts  of  the  soul  as  for 
sensuous  beauty.  He  had  traveled  the  world 
over  to  find  a  human  specimen,  that  he  could 
cage  or  caress  at  his  pleasure.  Zulona  was  at 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  57 

the  Palace;  she  was  beautiful;  her  voice  was 
liquid  music;  Mazaro  could  feast  his  eyes  and 
his  ears ;  but  he  was  not  a  voluptuary ;  his  adora 
tion  of  beauty  was  objective  and  not  subjective. 
Could  he  have  retained  the  beautiful,  without  the 
individual,  he  would  have  done  so.  Garangula 
was  beautiful ;  he  desired  to  keep  him,  now  that 
he  was  within  the  Palace  gates.  But  Garangula 
should  not  see  the  "star-eyed  pale-face";  he 
should  have  no  object  to  attract  his  attention; 
with  the  impassiveness  of  an  idol,  Garangula 
should  receive  Mazaro's  adoration.  His  eyes 
rested  on  Garangula' s  face,  with  a  satisfied  look. 

"She  is  not  here,"  he  said. 

Garangula  looked  at  him  a  moment  and  said, 
"  The  Star-Eyed-One  tarries  in  the  great  dwell 
ing-place.  Garangula  will  see  her." 

Mazaro  lowered  his  eyes ;  he  felt  baffled,  and 
yet,  not  one  moment  would  he  yield. 

"  Ah,  well,  stay  here  until  you  find  her ;  she 
may  be  in  some  neighboring  villa." 

"  Garangula  will  abide  here  until  he  find  her," 
the  Indian  replied. 

Mazaro  beckoned   to   his  slaves.     "  Lead   on 


58  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

to  the  royal  apartments,"  lie  said,  speaking  in  a 
language  unknown  to  Garangula.  "  Serve  this 
man  as  though  standing  before  a  prince — give 
him  wine  and  fruits,  burn  incense  ;  sing  with  the 
harp,  dance ;  anything,  everything  that  will  en 
gage  him." 

A  few  hours  later,  he  found  the  Indian  listen 
ing  to  the  slaves  singing  their  native  songs; 
apparently  he  understood  them.  Mazaro  ordered 
a  repast,  himself  eating  little,  while  he  talked  to 
his  guest. 

In  all  great  situations,  in  everything  that 
Mazaro  felt  deeply,  he  manifested  the  greatest 
indifference.  He  told  story  after  story,  and 
Garangula  listened  with  simple,  child-like 
pleasure;  but  at  the  end,  said,  u  Garangula 
wishes  to  see  the  star-eyed  pale-face." 

Mazaro  almost  gave  vent  to  his  annoyance; 
but  he  answered  quietly,  with  his  most  persuasive 
smile,  "  Let  me  show  you  the  grounds,  forests  I 
should  say,  of  the  Strange  Palace.  You  will 
see  animals,  birds,  fishes,  reptiles  of  every  kind." 

Garangula's  delight  was  boundless  as  they 
wandered  through  the  grounds.  He  seemed 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  59 

to  ha\e  forgotten  his  quest.  When  evening 
was  come,  they  entered  the  banquet-hall.  It 
was  an  odd  fancy  of  Mazaro  to  conceal  his  identity 
from  his  guests,  having  it  announced  that  the  inas- 
ferwas  away.  It  pleased  him  to  do  so  that  evening, 
doubtless  that  his  entire  time  might  be  given  to 
Garangula.  He  linked  his  arm  in  that  of  the 
Indian,  and  together  they  moved  among  the 
guests,  who  already  talked  as  friend  to  friend. 
There  were  brilliant  spaces  of  light  in 
different  parts  of  the  hall,  and  yet  no  lights 
were  visible.  Within  these  spaces  were  reflected 
the  table  service  of  precious  metals,  the  flowers, 
the  servants  as  they  moved  noiselessly  over  the 
marble  floor.  This,  and  the  incongruity  of  the 
guests,  the  subdued  music  of  the  band,  the 
dancing  of  maidens  upon  a  plateau  not  far  away, 
made  a  scene  that  strangely  moved  Garangula. 

The  spaces  of  light  grew  more  and  more  brill 
iant,  the  music  stronger,  the  dancing  wilder. 
Mazaro,  forgetting  that  he  had  desired  to  remain 
incognito,  emptied  his  cup  of  wine,  and  cried : 

"  Oh  life,  thou  art  beauty :  thy  beginning,  aim, 
and  end.  .  .  .beauty.  There  is  naught  else." 


60  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

And  looking  at  Garangula,  he  said:  "  And  thou, 
oh,  Child  of  the  Woods,  art  all  I  have  ever 
dreamed  that  life  could  be !  Thou  art  so  beauti 
ful  !  Leave  me  not !  Leave  not  this  Palace,  and 
I  will  abide  here  forever.  Knowest  thou  not," 
he  drew  closer  and  whispered,  "I  can  teach  thee 
to  live  always,  to  keep  thy  beauty  as  it  now  is?  " 
The  Indian  answered,  his  voice  like  the  echo 
of  angels'  songs,  "O  Star-Eyed-One,  Garangula 
seeks  thee." 


CHAPTER  TWELFTH. 


1  tie  was  a  man,  tafte  bim  for  all  in  all,  £  aball 
not  look  upon  bis  Ufic  again." 

Sbafeespeare, 


IT  was  a  fortniglit  after  Garangula  readied  the 
Strange  Palace,  and  lie  had  not  seen  Zulona. 
Hundreds  of  people  had  paid  tribute  to  her 
genius — she  had  suddenly  become  one  of  the 
celebrities  of  the  world.  The  Indian  had  been 
near  her  many  times ;  but  thus  far,  Mazaro  had 
accomplished  his  design. 

They  were  in  the  Jewel  Chamber,  its  wonders 
being  rivaled  only  by  the  Tosha'khanas 
in  the  courts  of  India.  The  floor  was  inlaid 
with  cut  stones  of  fabulous  value;  the  ceiling 
and  walls  were  covered  with  jewels.  In  the 
ceiling  were  radiating  suns  of  amber.  The 


62  SHE  OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

Indian  looked  in  breathless  wonder.  After  a 
long  time  he  said,  "They  are  sounds  of  spirits 
on  their  way  to  the  Happy  Hunting-Grounds." 

Mazaro  abruptly  left  the  Jewel  Chamber,  say 
ing,  under  his  breath,  "Now  comes  the  last  test. 
If  he  pass  this,  I  fear  to  lose  him." 

"  Do  you  love  serpents  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Garangula  loves  all  things." 

"We  shall  see,  we  shall  see,"  said  Mazaro, 
smiling,  not  entirely  with,  pleasure.  They  sud 
denly  came  upon  a  den  of  snakes.  "Look  for 
your  life ! "  Mazaro  spoke  to  a  tall,  thin,  wiry- 
looking  man  who  stood  at  the  entrance. 

"This  man  goes  in  there,  stays  three  hours, 
and  comes  out  alive!  Comes  out  alive,  or  your 
head !  Hear  you  ?  " 

The  man  bowed  low. 

They  looked  through  the  opening  at  the 
snakes. 

"Are  you  willing  to  go  in  there  and  touch 
that  you  claim  to  love?"  Mazaro  asked. 

"Garangula  will  go." 

Mazaro  turned  pale.  Fearing  to  show  his 
feelings,  he  said,  "  Enter,"  and  turned  away. 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  63 

The  gate  opened,  and  Garangula  stood  within 
the  gloomy  den  of  serpents  hissing,  coiling 
and  creeping  among  each  other.  Suddenly 
a  ray  of  light  broke  through  the  gloom; 
the  serpents  ceased  to  move.  The  light 
grew  and  filled  the  den.  Garangula  stepped 
among  the  serpents  and  put  his  hands 
caressingly  upon  their  heads;  the  light  grew 
stronger.  Garangula  lifted  his  face  toward  the 
ceiling;  it  was  radiant,  his  eyes  became  fixed, 
his  lips  moved. 

"Great  Spirit!    O  Holy  Light!  "he  breathed. 


CHAPTER  THIRTEENTH. 


'  How  is  tbe  winter  of  our  Macontent  mat>e  glod= 
oue  summer  bx;  tbis  sun  of  l?orh— " 

Sbahcspcarc. 


THE  twilight  stole  through  the  stained  win 
dows  of  the  Egyptian  Apartments  occupied  by 
Zulona.  Why  she  should  have  been  given  these, 
no  one  but  Mazaro,  knew.  A  soft,  seductive 
poetry  filled  the  rooms — Zulona,  robed  as 
a  princess,  half  reclined  on  a  tiger-skin.  She 
was  an  Egyptian  to-night;  to-morrow  she 
might  be  Russian  or  German,  but  now  she 
was  a  daughter  of  the  Nile:  the  pyramids 
might  claim  her  for  aught  one  knew.  Her 
eyes  expressed  wonder  and  the  green  in 
them  was  deeper.  Whether  this  were  acting,  or 
another  phase  of  her  character,  none  could  tell. 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  65 

Rachel  held  Wanda,  whose  lids  drooped 
lower  and  lower  as  she  sang  a  soft  lullaby. 
Dixie,  the  dog,  his  big  head  on  his  paws, 
barked  'in  his  dreams.  Aunt  Dinah  was 
seated  on  a  high  stool,  the  legs  of  which 
were  crossed  and  mounted  with  three  falcon 
heads  holding  the  leather  seat  in  their  beaks. 
She  was  a  quaint  picture  of  reposeful  serenity, 
mentally  congratulating  herself  on  the  warmth 
that  "cum  frum  she  didn't  know  whar,  but  it 
wus  mighty  nice  ter  be  alluz  cumftible  widout 
trouble." 

Aunt  Dinah  was  devotedly  attached  to  Zulona, 
whom  she  had  nursed  from  babyhood.  "Ole 
Dinah  don't  see  many  like  her  now-a-days,"  she 
often  said,  "  and  she's  gwine  ter  follow  dis  one 
'tel  dese  ole  bones  am  laid  to  res'.  'Taint  gwine 
ter  be  long,  an'  ole  Dinah  would  be  willin'  ter  go 
ef  she  could  see  her  boy  dat  wuz  taken  away, 
long  time  ago.  I  wonder  ef  I'll  see  my  chile 
dis  side  de  grave." 

When  it  was  grown  dark,  Zulona  said:  "Oh, 
Aunt  Dinah,  do  sing  one  of  your  old  songs. 


66  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

I  always  want  them  when   I  feel  sad;  I  think  I 
shall  wish  to  hear  one  when  I'm  dying." 

Aunt  Dinah  began  rocking  herself  to  and  fro, 
and  humming  in  a  low  voice,  the  Inournful 
cadences  floating  among  the  shadows  of  the 
room.  Then  came  the  words  clear  and  trium 
phant. 

"'Moses  smote  de  water, 

An'  de  sea  gabe  away; 
De  chillun  dey  crossed  ober, 

An'  de  sea  gabe  away. 
Oh!  L/awd,  I  feel  so  glad, 

It  am  always  dark  fo'  day, 
So  honey  don't  you  be  sad, 
De  sea'll  gib  away — 
De  sea'll  gib  w-a-y! '  " 

The  tones  died  away  in  thrilling  sadness. 
Wanda  suddenly  opened  her  eyes,  raised  herself, 
and  looked.  Dixie  moved,  then  bounded  from 
the  room.  A  moment  later,  he  proudly  returned, 
looking  back  with  many  extra  wags  of  his  tail. 
Aunt  Dinah  leaned  forward  with  a  frightened 
look — she  was  always  on  the  alert  in  the  Strange 
Palace.  Zulona  changed  to  a  more  indolent  and 
graceful  attitude — Garangula  stood  before  her. 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  67 

Zulona  slowly  rose  and  extended  her  hand. 
"Garangula!"  she  said. 

The  Indian  bowed  his  head  and  crossed  his 
hands  »n  his  breast.  "  Star-Eyed-One,  Garan 
gula,  the  Indian,  greets  thee."  Then  bending 
over  Wanda  he  tonched  her  cheek  caressingly, 
"Little  papoose Little  pale-faced  papoose!  " 

Aunt  Dinah  crouched  away  in  a  corner  saying, 
under  her  breath,  "  Bress  de  Lawd!  Ole  Dinah 
purty  nigh  skeered  ter  def.  How  did  dat  Injun 
git  here?  Feel  like  I'm  a-lookin'  at  er  real  live 
ghost  dis  time — guess  ole  Dinah's  gittin'  paid 
back  fur  declarin'  she's  seen  so  many  befo'.  De 
white  folks  feels  strange,  too,  'bout  it,  but  dey 
won't  show  it,"  and  she  looked  at  Zulona  with 
increasing  admiration. 

A  servant  in  livery  entered,  bearing  on  a  jew 
eled  salver,  the  compliments  of  Mazaro.  Having 
been  ushered  in  with  great  ceremony,  Mazaro 
said  to  Zulona,  "I  have  been  thinking  perhaps 
you  might  have  friends  whom  you  would  like  to 
invite  to  the  Palace.  Pray  consider  them  wel 
come.  The  rooms  looking  toward  the  Hast,  are 
at  your  disposal." 


68  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

From  Ms  manner  toward  Garangula,  one 
could  not  jndge  whether  he  had  seen  him  before. 

As  Mazaro  left  the  room  he  said,  in  a  low, 
resolute  voice,  "I  will  bide  my  time.  He 
shall  come  to  me  some  day;  it  may  be  many 
years,  but  it  shall  be — it  shall  be.  I  will  bide 
my  time." 

Having  determined  on  a  certain  result,  Mazaro 
never  gave  it  up.  When  baffled,  he  bore  it  seem 
ingly  without  feeling,  and  to  the  casual  observer, 
might  have  been  turned  from  his  course ;  but  in 
his  will  there  was  never  one  moment  of  waver 
ing — in  his  most  trivial  hours  he  thought  and 
planned  for  the  end  in  view.  He  never  made 
one  move  that  was  not  in  that  direction,  though 
it  appeared  he  went  in  a  thousand  diverse  paths. 
That  he  did  not  always  accomplish  his  designs, 
was  fate,  not  Mazaro's  fault.  He  held  no  further 
communication  with  Garangula  during  his  stay 
in  the  Strange  Palace,  though  he  was  cognizant 
of  every  movement  and  almost  every  word. 

"This  Palace  is  not  mine,  but  I  reside  here  at 
present,  and  offer  thee  hospitality,  even  as 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  69 

thou  didst  me  on  the  plains,"  said  Zulona  to 
the  Indian. 

"Garangula  will  stay,"  he  replied. 

"Bress  de  Lord!"  exclaimed  Aunt  Dinah. 
"He  gwine  ter  stay  here,  too!  Well,  so  long  as 
dat  purty  white  creetur  am  here  ole  Dinah'll  be. 
It  beats  me  how  dat  Injun  frum  Texas  got  here, 
an'  he  neber  bin  enny  whar  but  on  de  ranch,  an'  he 
cum  in  jes'  as  home-like  as  ef  he'd  ben  a-walkin' 
in  dem  wigwums  on  de  hills.  He  needn't  be 
a-comin*  ter  see  my  purty  mistiss,  though  she  do 
look  at  him  powerful  concarned  like,"  she  whis 
pered  to  Rachel. 


CHAPTER  FOURTEENTH. 


'Ubis  above  all— to  tbine  own  self  be  true; 

Bnt>  it  must  follow,  as  tbe  nlgbt  tbe  oat, 
Ubou  canst  not  tben  be  false  to  anv  man; 

farewell;  mv  blessing  season  tbis  in  tbee. 

Sbafcespcarc. 


IT  did  not  occur  to  Garangula  anyone  would 
wonder  about  his  coming.  He  wished  to 
see  the  "  pale-face,"  and  left  his  home  believing 
he  would  find  her.  It  was  a  very  simple  thing 
to  do  what  one  wished.  The  Great  Spirit  would 
guide  his  children,  if  they  would  be  led.  His 
mother  had  taught  him  that  the  white  man  rea 
soned  and  studied — that  was  why  he  often  lost 
his  way.  The  influence  of  this  teaching  had 
remained  undisturbed  by  Lord  Carleton — the 
English  lord — of  whom  Garangula  had  spoken 
to  Zulona.  Ah,  Lord  Carleton!  Garangula 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  71 

thought  of  him  even  now,  as  he  stood  before 
Zulona.  Lord  Carleton,  while  on  his  ranch  in 
Texas,  not  only  had  shared  his  rude  cabin  with 
the  Indian,  but  had  conceived  a  great  affection 
for  the  mild-mannered  son  of  the  forest.  He 
taught  and  loved  Garangula  as  a  younger 
brother.  They  were  both  noblemen,  of  differ 
ent  races.  Lord  Carleton  often  said,  "I  have 
never  known  a  soul  so  grand,  a  character  so 
simple.  I  love  him  more  than  a  brother." 

He  had  carefully  invested  Garangula's  money, 
not  a  small  sum  of  which  had  been  left  him  by 
his  father.  He  had  looked  forward  to  the  time 
when  he  would  take  him  to  Kngland ;  in  truth, 
he  had  pictured  their  future  together. 

A  few  days  after  Zulona  had  left  Tehuacana 
Hills,  Garangula  appeared  before  Lord  Carleton, 
prepared  for  a  journey,  saying,  "Garangula  goes 
to  seek  the  star-eyed  pale-face.  He  knows  not 
whither  she  has  gone,  or  how  long  she  may 
tarry.  But  he  knows  he  will  find  her." 

A  frank  soul  spoke  from  his  dark  eyes  that 
had  in  their  depths  calm  resolution. 

Lord    Carleton    uttered    a   low    exclamation. 


72  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

Here  was  a  dilemma — what  could  be  done? 
He  knew  full  well  it  would  be  impossible 
to  dissuade  him.  He  heard  the  cowboys  dis 
cussing  the  wonderful  appearance  of  some  ladies 
camping  out,  and  thought  this  most  extraordi 
nary  and  not  altogether  in  good  form,  but  he 
had  learned,  immediately  upon  his  arrival,  that 
American  women  had  more  independence  of 
character  than  those  of  any  other  nation,  and 
less  regard  for  conventionalities — a  trait  he  did 
not  admire  in  the  least — and  his  curiosity  was  in 
no  wise  awakened  until  Garangula  described 
them.  Then  he  went  to  see  them,  but  they  had 
gone.  He  had  not  spoken  to  Garangula  of  their 
departure — he  could  not  have  told  why ;  the  sub- 
ject  had  been  a  disagreeable  one  from  the  first. 
Now,  he  was  going  to  seek  her.  If  he  only  knew 
more  of  this  woman  who  had  robbed  him  of 
Garangula's  companionship  1  Who  was  she  ? 
What  was  her  influence  over  Garangula?  It 
could  not  be  for  good — such  a  woman !  Perhaps 
he  would  not  find  her — this  thought  brought  lit 
tle  comfort. 

"Shall  I  tell  him  of  conventional  life?"  he 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  73 

thought.  "No,  no,  I  could  never  make  him 
understand.  I  wonder  if  there  be  a  woman 
on  God's  earth,  that  would  play  with  his  heart? 
If  so,  heaven  help  him ! " 

Garangula  stood  child-like,  unable  to  under 
stand  Lord  Carleton's  sadness.  Childlike  as  the 
Indian  of  old,  he  thought  nothing  of  the  expenses 
of  the  journey.  He  had  put  together  his  Indian 
costumes  and  carried  them  as  his  forefathers  had 
done.  He  was  going  to  seek  the  "star-eyed" 
woman.  That  was  all.  Why  did  the  English 
lord  look  sorrowful? 

These  Indian  costumes  he  loved ;  it  was  not 
vanity  that  prompted  this,  but  the  barbaric  love 
of  ornament  that  belongs  to  the  savage,  and  the 
intense  love  of  the  beautiful  inseparable  from 
the  exalted  soul.  He  would  have  decorated  any 
thing  that  belonged  to  him.  His  usual  dress 
was  a  curious  blending  of  the  Oriental  with  that 
of  the  primitive  Indian  of  North  America.  Lord 
Carleton  had  wondered  at  the  Oriental  touches 
till  Garangula  told  him  he  once  found  some  pic 
tures  in  his  father's  books,  and  was  so  pleased 
with  them  his  mother  said  she  could  make  him 


74  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

look  as  those  people.  She  had  woven  into  them, 
however,  much  of  her  own  barbaric  taste,  and 
Garangula  still  adhered  to  the  old  custom  of 
Indian  ornaments  and  skins. 

The  morning  of  his  departure,  Garangula 
threw  the  deer-skin  over  his  shoulder  as  he 
entered  Lord  Carleton's  door.  His  face  was 
illumined  with  intuitive  light. 

"By  Jove!"  exclaimed  Lord  Carleton,  "how 
like  a  god  you  look ! "  Then  mentally,  "  What 
a  sensation  he  would  create  in  a  London  draw 
ing-room  ! " 

He  was  sorely  perplexed,  notwithstanding, 
when  Garangula  stood  firm  in  his  resolution  to 
seek  the  beautiful  pale-face  in  that  dress.  Find 
ing  all  efforts  unavailing,  he  looked  at  his  attire, 
worn  with  such  becoming  dignity,  and  said: 

"After  all,  you  could  wear  nothing  else." 

Going  to  a  box,  the  lid  of  which  was  not 
secured  by  a  lock  —  locks  are  unnecessary  in 
Texas — he  took  some  gold  and  a  large  roll  of 
bank  notes,  and  gave  them  to  Garangula. 

"Good-by,  and  the  Great  Spirit  bless  you. 
When  you  have  found  the  star-eyed  pale-face, 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  75 

write  me.  You  can  write  well  enough,  for  me  to 
understand." 

After  Garangula  had  gone,  Lord  Carleton 
found  the  evenings  at  the  Ranch  very  dull. 
Formerly,  they  were  spent  in  teaching  his  prot^g^ 
giving  him  sketches  of  travel,  or  reading  from 
the  poets,  while  Garangula  listened  intently, 
interrupting  to  ask  what  certain  passages  meant, 
then  telling  the  thoughts  that  came  to  him.  They 
were  always  original,  and  often,  even  more  poeti 
cal,  Lord  Carleton  thought,  than  those  they  had 
been  reading.  He  marveled  much  at  Garan~ 
gula's  way  of  expressing  himself,  until  one 
day,  he  told  him  that  his  father  "had  many 
books  and  knew  great  learning." 

"  Then  I  wonder  you  never  learned  to  read," 
Lord  Carleton  rejoined. 

"  Garangula's  mother  would  never  consent  to 
that.  She  let  his  father  talk  to  him  and  teach 
him  the  white  man's  speech,  and  Garangula 
remembers  that  at  times  he  talked  like  the 
English  lord.  Then  again,  in  a  strange  lan 
guage  he  spoke,  and  said  it  was  that  of  his  own 
people." 


76  SHE  OF   THE  HOLY   LIGHT. 

"Try  to  recall  some  words  of  the  strange 
language,"  said  Lord  Carleton,  eagerly;  he  had 
long  wished  to  know  to  what  nation  Garangula's 
father  belonged. 

"  Garangula  cannot.  His  mother  begged  that 
her  child  should  not  learn  it.  *  Books  were 
the  cause  of  all  the  trouble  in  the  world,' 
she  said.  Garangula  shall  never  study  books; 
it  would  make  his  mother  unhappy.  Why 
should  men  learn  books,  when  the  Great  Spirit 
has  given  them  so  many  other  ways  to  read  ?  " 

Lord  Carleton  had  been  very  careful  about 
what  he  read  to  Garangula — that  which  would 
enlarge  his  poetic  nature,  but  always  avoided 
telling  him  of  the  white  man's  religion,  wishing 
him  to  keep  his  simple  faith  in  the  Great  Spirit. 

A  fortnight  after  Lord  Carleton  had  bidden 
good-by  to  Garangula,  he  had  a  note  from  him 
dated  "New  York,"  that  is,  the  postmark  on  the 
envelope  was  such. 

"  By  Jove !  Going  across  the  sea !  Is  the  boy 
mad?  Why  did  I  not  remonstrate  with  him,  beg 
him  never  to  leave  me?  " 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  77 

But  there  was  a  quiet  dignity  about  the 
Indian  that  silenced  interference. 

That  evening,  Lord  Carleton  sat  thinking  of 
his  friend  more  and  more  regretfully.  How  he 
missed  him  1 

"  Going  across  the  sea  to  seek  the  pale-face ! 
Will  he  find  her?  Will  he  make  his  way  in 
the  world  ?  I  have  often  thought  of  the  strange 
manner  in  which  he  came  to  me.  There  he 
stood  by  the  doorway,  and  said,  '  Garangula, 
the  Indian,  is  lonely  in  the  wigwam  on  the  hill 
side.  His  mother  is  gone.  May  he  abide  with 
thee?' 

"I  looked  at  him  a  moment;  his  great  soul 
went  out  to  mine.  I  clasped  his  hand  and  gave 
him  welcome.  I,  too,  was  lonely,  and  my  heart 
warmed  to  this  simple  child  of  nature.  How  I 
have  guarded  him !  As  closely  perhaps,  as  the 
Indian  mother,  who  seemed  to  live  in  constant 
dread  lest  her  child  should  be  contaminated  by 
the  white  man.  Many  nights,  when  it  was  nec 
essary  for  him  to  be  with  the  herds,  have  I  taken 
a  blanket  and  lain  on  the  ground  by  his  side. 
There  we  would  lie,  looking  up  at  the  stars  and 


78  SHE   OF   THE    HOLY   LIGHT. 

the  lamp  of  the  Great  Spirit,  and  talk  about  the 
Happy  Hunting-Grounds — I,  often  falling  asleep 
with  his  musical  voice  sounding  faintly  in  my 
ears.  But  when  necessity  did  not  compel,  I  kept 
the  Indian  with  me  in  the  evening — those  blessed 
evenings ! " 

Many  thoughts  chased  each  other  through  his 
mind,  but  among  all,  Garangula  was  foremost. 

When  he  arose,  Lord  Carleton  had  formed 
new  plans,  which  he  was  unable  to  execute  for  a 
long  time. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEENTH. 


'"Cdatcb  ?e,  ano  fceep  tbem  untU  ^e  weigb  them 
before  tbe  cbtef  of  tbe  priests  ano  tbe  levftes, 
anb  cbtef  of  tbe  fathers  of  Israel  at  Jerusalem, 
in  tbe  cbambers  of  tbe  fjousc  of  tbe  loro." 

.  viit.    29. 


A  DUSKY  face  looked  from  the  window  of  an 
institution  devoted  to  the  education  of  the  Indian 
race.  The  building  was  surrounded  by  trees 
and  a  garden  that  stretched  toward  one  of  the 
gently  sloping  hills  covered  with  blue  grass. 

The  dark  eyes  gazed  wistfully  at  the  trees  and 
sky. 

"  Oh,  trees,  and  hills,  and  stream,  talk  to 
me !  "  she  cried.  "  Many  times  has  the  moon 
hung  above  me  since  I  have  dwelt  here.  Garan- 
gula  called  it  'the  Lamp.'  How  strange  was  all 
he  spoke  !  He  called  me  '  noble  maiden ' — was 


8o  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

I  not  daughter  of  a  chieftain  ?  Long  ago  that 
seems.  They  call  time  by  years  here,  and  it  is 
longer.  The  red  man  counts  by  the  grass,  and 
moon,  and  snows,  and  one  grows  not  old.  But 
tell  it  as  may  be,  it  is  long  since  Garangula  and 
I  roamed  together.  His  mother  brought  him  to 
my  tribe  that  he  might  know  her  race.  He  was 
one  of  us,  and  still  unlike  us.  Only  twelve  win 
ters  had  passed  o'er  him,  yet  when  he  spoke  my 
people  listened.  Ofttimes  he  talked  to  the  rocks, 
and  trees  and  birds.  One  night — the  lamp  in 
the  sky  burned  brighter  than  now — I  was  awak 
ened  by  Garangula.  *  See !  See ! '  he  cried. 
When  I  asked  him  what  it  was,  he  said: 
'  Garangula  believes  they  are  the  people  who 
make  the  forests  and  all  there  is  in  them. 
Look !  Look !  They  touch  the  large  rock,  and 
it  moves.  They  are  dancing  above  the  flowers. 
Beautiful !  Beautiful ! '  He  clasped  his  hands 
and  spoke  no  more.  Soon  his  eyes  closed  and 
he  slept,  but  I  sat  there  looking  straight  into 
the  forest  trying  to  see  '  the  people ' ;  sat 
there  till  the  birds  sang  in  the  morning.  Their 
songs  brought  me  no  gladness,  for  Garangula's 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  8 1 

mother  would  set  out  on  her  return  when  the 
sun  rose  in  the  heavens. 

"  A  long  time  after,  did  Leota,  the  Indian 
maiden,  look  in  the  woods  for  'the  people'. 
Then  did  the  faithful  Noncuso  go  to  bring  news 
of  Garangula.  And  this  word  he  brought — 
'  Garangula  dwells  with  a  white  man  who  owns 
many  herds.  The  white  man  teaches  Garangula 
from  books.' 

"  The  Indian  maiden  went  to  the  pale-face 
who  had  come  to  teach  her  people,  and  begged  to 
be  sent  where  she,  too,  might  learn  from  books. 
The  grass  has  been  long  growing,  the  birds  slow 
in  building  their  nests,  but  the  Indian  maiden 
has  been  faithful.  Some  time  Garangula  and 
she  may  meet,  and  together  help  their  people." 

A  deep  sigh  told  the  story  of  self-repression 
through  an  effort  for  abnormal  development. 

Her  eyes  flashed.  She  sprang  up,  tore  the 
dark  hair  from  its  confinement,  and  unlaced  her 
robe,  standing  with  naught  but  a  blanket  about 
her.  She  drew  a  long,  deep  breath  and  held  it — 
a  luxury  she  had  not  known  in  her  toilet 
of  stays.  She  stretched  herself  .to  her  full 


82  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY   LIGHT. 

height,  then  drawing  her  blanket  close,  she 
leaped  from  the  window,  caught  the  branch  of  a 
tree,  and  sprang  to  the  ground.  At  a  bound  she 
had  left  the  garden  and  was  gliding  down  the 
slope  of  the  hill.  In  wild  ecstasy  she  clasped  a 
tree  and  talked  to  it  in  her  own  language.  For 
a  moment  her  body  swayed  to  and  fro,  then  in 
sheer  abandonment  she  flung  herself  on  the 
ground,  and  lay  so  still,  her  heart  seemed  to  beat 
as  one  with  the  great  earth ....  She  arose — the 
rebellion  and  wildness  had  vanished.  She  moved 
down  the  valley  where  a  stream  laughed  on  its 
way,  and  sang  and  danced  about  it;  then  knelt 
and  looked  in  the  woods  for  "  the  people  ".  After 
a  time,  the  eyes  drooped  and  she  dreamed  by 
the  water.  When  the  light  from  the  east  stole 
through  the  woods,  the  Indian  maiden  rose  dumb 
with  wonder ;  she  shivered  at  the  great  unknown 
unfolding  before  her.  Drawing  her  blanket  close 
about  the  head,  she  leaned  forward — the  deep-set 
eyes  looked  out  piercingly,  striving  to  know  as 
others  have  done.  "The  Indian  maiden  knows 

not  the  mystery !     Leota  understands  not  1 " 

she  cried  out. 


SHE   OF   THE'  HOLY   LIGHT.  83 

The  eyes  ceased  to  wonder.  She  folded  her 
arms  across  her  breast  and  said:  "O,  Great 
Spirit,  Leota,  the  Indian  maiden,  will  go  on." 

The  blanket  fell  from  her  form.  A  great 

light  swept  over  her "For  Garangula's 

sake — for  thy  people — my  people,  Garangula. 
The  Indian  maiden  cannot  divide  them.  She 
loves  one  through  the  other.  She  loves  both  as 
one." 

The  light  grew  softer,  her  voice  died  away — 
"  Spirit — Garangula — thy  people — my  people." 


CHAPTER  SIXTEENTH. 


'"Cbc<e  bavc  been  at  a  great  feast  of   languages, 
ant  stolen  tbe  scrape." 

Sbafeespeate, 


THE  fame  of  Zulona's  lecture  in  the  Strange 
Palace,  spread  afar.  Many  invitations  followed. 
A  most  important  one  came  from  the  Academy 
of  Music,  inviting  her  to  speak;  especially  did 
the  opera  singers  wish  to  hear  the  laws  of  song 
expounded.  When  learning  this,  Mazaro  said: 
"  Go  not ;  I  will  invite  them  to  come  here.  Take 
my  advice — be  great  enough  to  draw  the  world 
to  you.  Of  course,  there  are  people  who  must 
seek,  but  it  is  far  greater  to  be  sought." 

It  was  arranged  the  Academy  of  Music  should 
hold  its  next  convention  within  the  Strange 
Palace.  There  was  great  excitement  among 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  85 

the  members.  If  the  Prophetess — as  she  was 
called — set  forth  the  truths  some  were  led  to 
think,  she  might  create  a  School  of  Art. 

A  new  era  seemed  dawning,  and  the  hope  of 
deliverance  from  shackles  at  hand.  The  season 
of  the  Capital  was  not  over,  and  many  social 
stars  were  among  the  audience  that  day. 

When  Zulona  entered  the  theatre  a  message 
was  placed  in  her  hands.  She  gave  it  a  glance 
and  staggered ;  but  by  the  time  she  had  reached 
the  stage,  her  emotion  was  mastered,  and  she 
smiled  gratefully  at  the  applause  which  greeted 
her. 

"  The  great  Master  of  whom  I  shall  tell  you, 
said,  *  Art  is  feeling  passed  through  thought  and 
fixed  in  form.'  Thus  Art  sweeps  the  whole 
realm  of  being  and  has  the  same  underlying 
principles  that  life  has.  And  since  it  doth  not 
yet  appear  what  man  shall  be,  there  is  no  limit 
to  art,  so  far  as  our  present  vision  can  discern. 
And,  furthermore,  since  the  Universal  is  inex 
haustible,  it  must  be  believed  with  a  holy  faith, 
that  every  man  has  an  individuality  to  express." 

She  classified  the  different  Schools  of  Art,  be- 


86  SHE  OF   THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

ginning  with  the  earliest.  She  illustrated  each 
school  so  forcefully,  the  audience  felt  awed  at 
her  power.  They  realized  the  influence  of  her 
magnetism.  "She  is  an  adept  in  occult  science 
and  is  casting  a  spell  over  her  audience,"  some 
declared. 

Perhaps  both.  Was  it  done  with  understand 
ing?  Opposition  gives  dignity,  grandeur — trag 
edy.  Parallelism  is  a  symbol  of  equality, 
universal  brotherhood.  He  who  understands  the 
application  of  these,  knows  the  relation  between 
good  and  evil. 

The  audience  began  to  wonder  how  one  so 
young,  could  have  reached  such  heights. 

She  paused  a  moment,  then  concluded:  "My 
Master  gave  his  life  to  the  study  of  Man's  being, 
the  true  knowledge  of  which,  is  the  basis  of  the 
Artistic  School.  He  studied  in  hospitals,  asy 
lums,  among  the  poor,  the  great — everywhere, 
that  he  might  teach  the  Expression  of  Humanity. 
I  will  not  picture  to  you  the  details  of  his  strug 
gles.  His  life-work  has  ceased.  I  have  in  my 
hand  this  mournful  message :  '  The  Master  hath 
gone  from  us? 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  87 

"  Yesterday  the  world  was  rich — he  lived;  to 
day  the  world  is  poor — doubly  poor,  because  it 
recognized  not  what  it  possessed.  He  lived 
before  his  time,  as  do  all  great  souls.  Many  sat 
at  his  feet  and  drank  wisdom.  He  died  in 
obscurity  because  he  cared  not  for  applause. 

"The  people  weep  not,  nor  do  they  rise  to 
build  a  monument  to  his  memory.  He  needs  it 
not.  The  time  will  come  when  you  will  say, 
*  Let  us  atone  for  the  past !  Let  us  honor  him 
who  has  been  among  us !  Let  us  make  recom 
pense.' 

"  Only  by  taking  the  truths  he  left  you  and 
making  them  known  to  the  uttermost  ends  of 
the  earth,  may  you  atone.  Had  I  the  power  to 
leave  a  memorial  worthy  of  my  Master,  I  should 
give  you  that  for  which  he  lived  and  worked — 
Truth  Immortal" 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEENTH. 


3  am  Sir  Oracle, 

wben  3  ope  ms  Kpe,  let 

Ho  &og  barb." 

Sbafcespeare. 


GARANGULA,  seated  in  tlie  Royal  box,  pre 
sented  a  strange  contrast  to  the  fashionable 
audience.  While  influenced  by  the  music  of 
Zulona's  voice,  he  was  perplexed  over  her  words. 
Classic,  Romantic,  ami  Artistic  were  to  him 
unknown  terms.  This  superb  child  of  Nature 
could  comprehend  no  School.  It  seemed  strange 
that  one  had  to  exercise  in  order  to  make  grace 
ful  movements.  As  to  acting,  he  had  never 
thought  about  it  until  now;  but  if  he*  wished  to 
play  a  part,  he  would  know  how.  Did  not  the 
Great  Spirit  teach  us  all  things  ? 


SHE  OF   THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  89 

While  in  New  York,  he  went  to  the  theatre 
where  Bdwin  Forrest  was  playing  Metamora. 
He  depicted  the  character  with  such  wonderful 
vividness,  Garangula  felt  he  was  looking  at  his 
forefathers.  It  was  so  natural  to  Indian  life 
that  he  did  not  question;  he  could  not  under 
stand  it  was  acting. 

He  lived  again  scenes  he  witnessed  when  his 
mother  took  him  to  the  Indian  camps.  He  saw 
the  wigwams  as  the  light  shone  on  them  from 
the  camp-fires.  His  mother's  tribe  gathered 
around  them  singing  songs  and  dancing;  the 
bright  red  costumes,  the  feathers  in  their  hair, 
the  beads  flashing  in  and  out,  made  glowing  pic 
tures  by  the  fire-light.  A  successful  chieftain 
returned  to  his  camp,  the  scalps  of  his  victims 
hanging  to  his  belt,  the  dancers  around  him 
venting  their  savage  delight  in  Indian  yells. 
They  ate  their  supper  of  venison  and  Indian 
corn,  and  the  war-dance  began,  as  the  climax  of 
the  play  was  reached. 

The  evening  after  the  lecture,  Zulona  said: 
"Will  Garangula  learn  of  me?" 


90  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY   LIGHT. 

"  He  will  listen  to  tlie  star-eyed  pale-face.  She 
will  be  kind  like  the  English  lord." 

Zulona  desired  him  for  a  pupil  because  his 
movements  had  in  them  a  promise  of  something 
that  even  she  felt  would  be  difficult  to  acquire. 

Many  times  she  said,  "The  artist  can  be 
created." 

"Granted,"  replied  another.  "True  unfold- 
ment  would  make  every  man  an  artist.  But  how 
few  understand  what  Unfoldment  means.  No 
man  is  greater  than  another.  The  seeming  dif 
ference  lies  in  the  fact  that  some  are  free  and 
some  are  slaves.  There  is  a  Philosophy,  if  com 
prehended,  that  would  enable  every  man  to  shake 
off  the  chains  and  unfold  the  poetry  in  his 
soul.  Like  the  Star  of  old,  it  shineth  from  afar. 
Its  rays  are  beginning  to  pierce  the  mists  of 
this  life.  He  who  would  become  a  great  artist, 
must  receive  its  light." 

Nothing  so  angered  Zulona  as  a  supposition 
of  art  knowledge  on  the  part  of  another.  In 
this  realm  she  reigned  alone,  and  would  not 
brook  contradiction.  Her  temper  once  given 
vent  to,  she  expressed  herself  in  immoderate 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  91 

terms.  Her  words  were  nothing,  however,  com 
pared  to  the  mobility  of  her  face.  She  hissed 
with  her  lips  and  cursed  with  her  eyes. 

This  woman  so  radiantly  beautiful,  acknowl 
edged  no  higher  expression  in  nature  than  the 
human,  accepted  no  religion  but  Art — her  pres 
entation  of  it.  When  with  her,  one  was  almost 
persuaded  to  her  interpretation  of  Expression, 
she  was  so  perfect  in  beauty. 

Her  motion  was  entrancing.  It  was  this,  more 
than  her  beauty  of  face  and  form  that  made  men 
her  worshipers.  When  acting,  this  motion  was 
anything  from  dreams  of  angels  to  the  angles 
of  discordant  demons. 

She  gave  her  powers  full  range  as  she 
hurled  sentence  after  sentence  at  a  recent 
criticism  on  her  art,  attacking  what  she  con 
sidered  her  beliefs.  She  scorned  it  as  unworthy 
of  an  artist,  defying  the  verification  in  either 
Art  or  life. 

But  when  she  turned  to  Garangula,  a  fascinat 
ing  smile  lighted  her  face ;  she  said : 

"  That  philosophy  of  which  I  am  a  follower,  is 
high  as  heaven,  deep  as  hell.  The  eternal  truths 


92  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

uplift  it.  Through,  its  influence,  gods  and  god 
desses,  as  heretofore,  will  walk  the  earth." 

The  Indian  arose  with  a  wonderful  expression 
on  his  face,  and  said: 

"  O,  Star-By ed-One,  Garangula  will  sit  at  thy 
feet  and  gain  wisdom,  but  the  beautiful  pale-face 
will  pardon  Garangula  if  he  beg  her  not  to  teach 
him  what  she  has  been  saying.  He  will  do  what 
ever  the  Great  Spirit  that  dwells  in  here" — he 
had  laid  his  hand  on  his  breast — "whatever 
the  Great  Spirit  tells  him,  but  he  cannot  learn  of 
other  things." 

Zulona's  face  was  as  difficult  to  define  as  that 
of  Garangula.  At  last  she  extended  her  hand 
to  him,  and  said:  "  You  may  learn  as  you  like. 
Let  us  begin." 

She  gave  a  gymnastic  of  the  arms.  Garan 
gula  watched  her  a  moment,  then  raised  his  arms 
slowly,  and  with  perfect  rhythm  made  the  motion 
indicated. 

Finding  she  could  teach  him  nothing  in  this 
preliminary  drill,  she  told  him  to  improvise  in 
gesture,  and  explained  what  she  meant. 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  93 

No  words  can  describe  Garangula's  wonderful 
improvisation. 

The  first  scene  was  a  young  Indian  fighting 
against  the  white  man  for  his  bride.  He  held 
his  ground  calmly  till  the  whites  rushed  on 
him,  then  he  looked  like  a  wild  animal  at  bay. 
He  pushed  his  bride  behind  him,  and  with  one 
more  struggle,  which  proved  futile,  turned  sud 
denly,  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  leaped  from 
the  cliff. 

Then  came  a  Chieftain  in  battle.  He  looked 
a  giant  as  he  stood  calm  and  fearless  among 
his  enemies,  his  head  thrown  haughtily  back, 
scorn  pictured  on  his  countenance,  his  eyes 
aglow  with  superhuman  courage.  This  increased 
as  his  comrades  fell  around  him  and  the  enemy 
drew  nigh.  At  length,  they  closed  upon 
him.  Then  followed  the  most  superb  natural 
acting  perhaps  ever  witnessed.  He  towered  like 
a  great  mountain  whose  every  crevice  and  peak 
are  seen  in  the  glaring  sunlight,  but  over  which 
no  mist  hangs  to  give  ideality  and  poetry. 

The   time   came   when   he   must   yield.     He 


94  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

bared  his  breast  and  fell  forward  without  a 
groan. 

From  these  scene0  he  drifted  into  others, 
wherein  one  saw  more  clearly  than  before,  the 
influence  of  Lord  Carleton.  He  was  impro 
vising  from  the  poetry  that  had  been  read  to 
him,  and  it  was  remarkable  how  he  gave  a  cer 
tain  finesse  to  the  characters,  that  was  wholly 
wanting  in  the  first  acting,  a  few  artistic  touches 
here  and  there,  that  were  a  marked  contrast  to 
the  romantic,  rugged  impersonations  of  Indian 
life,  that  inspired  one  with  such  fire  and  enthu 
siasm. 

But  so  far,  he  had  done  nothing  original ;  he 
had  merely  copied  in  a  marvelous  manner 
that  which  he  either  witnessed  or  had  been 
described  to  him  by  his  mother,  and  the  pictures 
that  had  remained  with  him  from  the  English 
man's  reading.  It  was  beautiful;  nay,  it  was 
wonderful;  but  was  it  creative?  Was  he  an 
artist?  As  one  watched  this  Indian,  he  began 
asking  for  the  first  time,  Should  one  study  art? 
And  is  it  true  that  every  man  is  a  poet?  If  so, 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  95 

then  it  is  also  true  that  civilized  man  has  drifted 
so  far  from  the  child  of  nature,  he  must  spend 
years  finding  his  way  back. 

For  on  one  point  there  is  no  question — No  civ 
ilized  man  expresses  himself. 

WE  ARE  ALL  LIARS. 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEENTH. 


"3  talfe  of  breams; 

tdbicb  are  tbe  cbilbren  of  an  iMc  brain; 
JBecjot  of  nothing  but  vain  pbantasv; 
tUlbicb  is  as  tbin  of  substance  as  tbe  air; 
Hnb  more  inconstant  tban  tbe  winos, 
tUbo  woos  even  now,  tbe  frozen  bosom  of  tbe  nortb, 
Bnl>  betnfl  an^er'o,  puffs  awav.  from  tbence, 
Uurning  bis  face  to  tbe  t>ew— topping  soutb." 

Sbahespeare. 

"  f  or  ©ob  speahetb  once,  sc»  twice,  tet  man  pers 
cetvetb  it  not." 

3ob  rrriii.    14. 


"  GOD  offers  to  everyone  his  choice.  I  have 
chosen  to  seek  the  truth,  and  he  who  seeks,  has 
no  rest.  I  cannot  understand  how  all  my  earnest 
efforts  have  failed.  Oh,  God,  help  me!"  she 
cried  out  in  anguish.  "  All  things  have  failed 
to  bring  me  to  the  light.  My  last  hope  was  this 
beautiful  art.  I  had  faith  in  it,  I  thought  it  con 
tained  the  Philosophy  of  Life.  I  have  studied 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  97 

faithfully  for  years.  It  lias  thrown  light  on  the 
way,  yes,  much  light.  There  are  many  things  I 
see  clearly  that  were  dark  before,  and  I  vaguely 
wonder  sometimes,  if,  when  I  have  fully  mastered 
it,  I  shall  not  have  the  whole  truth.  I  still  have 
hope  at  times,  and  through  this,  continue  the 
struggle.  Would  not  a  man  who  was  complete 
master  of  the  whole  circle  of  art  and  science,  be 
a  harmonious  man?  But  I  feel  so  far  from 
grasping  it  as  a  whole.  I  think  the  fault  mine ; 
I  feel  in  some  way  I  am  not  seeking  aright — I 
know  its  end  is  peace.  Alas!  I  am  growing 
more  unhappy  each  day,  more  discordant  every 
hour.  No  man  has  reached  the  truth  until  he 
become  harmonious  in  body,  mind,  and  soul. 
I  cannot  believe  the  invalid,  however  patient  and 
resigned,  is  within  the  pale  of  Truth. 

"I  talk  of  Truth,  and  I  realize  not  what  it  is. 
I  feel  to-day  that  I  do  not  even  know  what  I  am 
seeking.  I  am  all  astray — longing,  longing  for 
something. 

"What  is  Truth?  Who  knows?  I  thought 
for  a  time  it  meant  culture,  that  he  who  had  the 
highest  culture,  was  nearest  the  Truth. 


98  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY   LIGHT. 

"  Perhaps  there  is  much  in  this,  but  I  have 
lived  to  know  that  the  beggar  by  the  roadside, 
who  never  heard  the  word  *  culture',  may  be 
nearer  the  truth  than  many  of  the  learned. 
Thus,  many  definitions  have  played  me  false, 
till  I  am  now  in  the  hopeless  condition  of  know 
ing  not  for  what  I  am  struggling.  And  the 
pain  here,"  she  pressed  her  hands  to  her  temples, 
"is  growing  harder  to  bear  day  by  day,  and  with 
it  a  deep  unrest  has  come.  I  have  resolved  to 
go  away  and  live  alone  and  find  a  philosophy  of 
my  own." 

Aunt  Dinah,  who  had  been  standing  by  the 
door,  listening,  looked  at  her  wonderingly. 

"What  am  you  tryin'  ter  fin',  Miss  Rachel? 
You  ain't  lost  dat  purty  brespin  you  wears,  is 
yer?" 

Rachel  smiled  faintly  in  spite  of  her  weariness. 

"No,  Aunt  Dinah,  but  I  have  had  a  dream 
that  made  me  unhappy,  even  more  so  than  I  was 
before." 

"  Hope  'taint  a  bad  un — tell  me  'bout  it,"  and 
Aunt  Dinah  seated  herself  preparatory  to  enjoy- 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  99 

ing  the  dream.  Next  to  ghost  stories  she  liked 
dreams. 

"This  morning,"  said  Rachel,  "I  felt  too 
weary  to  study  or  work,  so  I  laid  down  to  rest, 
hoping  I  would  fall  asleep  and  forget  my  un 
happy  thoughts.  Before  I  did  this,  I  resolved  I 
would  go  away  for  awhile,  till  I  could  get  into  a 
happier  state." 

"Law,  Miss  Rachel,  what's  de  matter?  Hab 
enny  ob  us  hurt  yo'  feelin's  ?  Ef  it's  ole  Dinah 
she's  ready  ter  ax  yo'  forgiveness  right  now." 

"  No,  no,  Aunt  Dinah." 

"Well,  den,  what  is  it?  But  tell  me  fust 
'bout  yo'  dream." 

"  I  thought,"  Rachel  continued,  "  some  one 
came  to  me  and  said:  'Yes,  go  your  way, 
seclude  yourself  from  the  world  and  see  if  you 
can  learn  of  Him  who  was  meek  and  lowly,  of 
Him  who  ever  went  among  his  people  doing  good. 
Try  this,  for  it  is  one  of  the  lessons  you  must 
learn.' 

"  Then,  this  being  vanished,  and  all  grew  dark. 
I  put  out  my  hands  trying  to  find  the  way,  lest  I 
fall  into  some  treacherous  abyss.  I  stumbled 


100  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

over  sharp  stones  that  cut  my  bare  feet  and  left 
them  bleeding  and  torn.  I  cried  for  help,  but  I 
heard  no  sound.  I  kept  on  the  pathless  track, 
growing  more  and  more  hopelessly  lost.  At  last, 
I  saw  a  narrow,  winding  path,  but  it  was  delusion; 
instead  of  nearing,  I  was  getting  further  away 
from  it,  till  I  reached  a  spot  where  I  was  sur 
rounded  by  a  rugged  cliff,  whose  sharp  sides 
reached  up  to  the  heavens;  by  a  thick  woods, 
through  which  I  could  not  see — and  by  a  dark 
river,  the  foaming  waters  of  which,  rushed  in 
front  of  me.  There  were  long,  forked  tongues 
reaching  out  to  draw  everything  within  their 
fathomless  depths.  I  shuddered  and  would  have 
turned  away,  but  my  eyes  became  riveted  on 
what  at  first  appeared  to  be  a  mere  speck ;  some 
thing  compelled  me  to  look 

"I  discovered  that  it  was  a  small  boat  being 
tossed  about  by  the  waves  that  laughed  in  their 
demoniacal  glee,  as  it  became  a  mere  plaything 
for  their  sport.  I  gradually  saw  the  figure  of  a 
human  being  with  his  hands  clutching  the  sides 
of  the  boat.  At  first,  I  thought  he  was  alone, 
but  after  a  time,  I  could  see  another  figure  at  the 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  IOI 

prow  of  the  boat.  This  did  not  appear  Human, 
but  more  like  a  Death's  head.  I  could  not  shut 
out  the  sight.  In  a  sepulchral  voice,  the  Death's 
head  said :  '  You  made  your  own  choice.  No  one 
ever  reaches  the  other  side  of  these  waters.  You 
are  nearing  the  spot  where  you  will  be  drawn 
into  its  depths.' 

"Then,  with  a  look  of  terror  that  made  my 
heart  stand  still,  this  human  being,  I  could  not 
tell  if  it  were  man  or  woman,  rose  and  pleaded 
for  mercy.  The  Death's  head  raised  its  long, 
skeleton  hand,  emphasizing  its  curse,  as  a  mighty 
wave  swept  over  both." 

Aunt  Dinar's  eyes  grew  wider  as  Rachel  con 
tinued:  "With  a  cry  of  horror  I  turned  and 
rushed  to  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  and  knelt  praying 
I  might  be  taken  to  the  light  once  more.  I  was 
willing  to  climb  up  its  steep,  rugged  sides — I  was 
willing  to  walk  in  the  highways  and  byways  of 
men.  As  I  knelt  there,  I  heard  a  low,  rumbling 
sound.  It  was  faint  and  far-off,  then  it  grew  more 
and  more  distinct ;  a  choking  sensation  came  over 
me,  the  sounds  were  like  roaring  flames.  I 
looked  up.  The  cliff  was  on  fire;  the  flames 


102  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

burst  out  in  all  their  fury,  gathering  in  strength 
and  brilliancy  from  the  centre.  Oh,  the  glare 
of  that  burning  cliff,  illuminating  the  woods, 
underneath  the  thick,  spreading  branches  of 
which,  I  could  see  the  lairs  of  wild  beasts! 
As  the  flames  were  enveloping  me,  a  woman 
clothed  in  light  appeared  in  the  centre  of  the 
cliff.  She  rose  as  though  borne  upon  wings, 
and  floated  through  the  flames  till  she  reached 
the  top,  where  she  poised  between  earth  and 
heaven. 

"  She  looked  down  and  smilingly  reached  out 
her  hands  towards  me,  then  pointed  to  the  forest. 
I  looked,  and  lo !  the  woods  were  changed  to  a 
mighty  city  wherein  men  and  women  were  strug 
gling  for  life  and  happiness.  Far  down  the 
street,  a  cathedral,  whose  spire  touched  the  heav 
ens,  rose  in  solemn  grandeur.  Over  this  was  a 
waning  star,  towards  which  the  woman  moved 
her  arm  in  a  spiral,  looking  upward.  Then  I 
heard  a  joyous  burst  of  music." 

"  Dem  wus  de  hebenly  harps,"  said  Aunt 
Dinah,  confidently. 

"  I  awoke,"  said  Rachel,  "  to  find  it  was  only 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  103 

the  birds  singing  in  the  garden.  The  time  was 
passing,  and  I  was  still  slothful." 

Aunt  Dinah  had  been  greatly  interested  in 
the  dream,  especially  when  the  angel  appeared, 
but  now  she  observed  Rachel  more  closely. 

"  Honey,  you  looks  pale  dis  mornin'.  What 
am  de  matter  wid  you,  Miss  Rachel,  any  how?  " 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Dinah,  I  can't  explain  to  you.  I 
am  trying  to  find  the  way — trying  to  learn  how 
to  do  right." 

A  glad  light  broke  over  Aunt  Dinah's  face. 
"Now,  honey,  tell  me,  is  you  a  mourner?  Is 
you  tryin'  to  git  religion  ?  " 

Rachel  smiled.  "  That  is  it,  I  suppose,  Aunt 
Dinah." 

"Bress  de  Lawd!"  and  she  swayed  her 
body,  ready  to  start  a  genuine  camp-meeting 
song.  "  Miss  Rachel,  what  am  you  habin'  all 
dis  fuss  'bout  it  fur?  Why  don't  you  jes'  drap 
right  down  on  yo'  knees  and  begin  to  pray? 
Jes'  gib  it  all  up  to  His  ways." 

"But  how  am  I  to  know  what  are  His  ways, 
Aunt  Dinah?" 

"  Law  chile !     Why  jes'  gib  yersef  right  up 


104  SHH  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

to  Him.  I  wish  you  could  hear  some  good  ole 
preachin'  I  used  ter  hear  way  down  de  south. 
One  preacher  I  member  specially.  He  wus  a 
curus  lookin'  man;  he'd  pulled  de  har  offen 
his  head  when  he'd  be  a  studyin'.  Dey  said 
his  wife  had  ter  wrap  his  hands  up  ter  keep  him 
from  pullin'  it  all  clean  out.  His  eyes  sumetimes 
'minded  ole  Dinah  of  live  coals,  and  folks  said 
he  wuz  purty  nigh  crazy,  but  I  think  he  wuz  de 
smartest  man  I  eber  see.  One  time  he  tole  a 
story,  it  warn't  no  dream,  nor  story,  nuther,  it 
was  so — it  happened.  He  said :  '  Once  dar  wuz 
a  po'  man  a  hangin'  way  up  on  a  cliff,  and  he 
wuz  'bout  ter  fall,  jes'  a  holdin'  on  ter  some  little 
saplin's,  and  ennything  he  could  ketch,  skeered 
too  'bout  fallin',  fur  ef  he  fell  he'd  kill  hisself, 
sho',  case  way  down  below  him  wuz  so  fur  he 
couldn't  see,  and  he'd  strike  his  head  'gin  de 
rocks,  and  Ian',  he  didn't  know  whar.  Jes'  as  he 
wuz  'bout  ter  fall,  he  looked  up  'bove  him — he 
wuz  a  prayin',  I  reckon,  and  he  see  a  great  white 
angel  a  hoverin'  up  above  him,  a  shore  nuff 
angel,  wid  great  wings,  an'  he  'peared  so  strong 
an'  so  lovin'.  He  looked  down  on  de  man,  sort 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  105 

of  pityin'  like,  an'  de  man  he  looked  back  at  him 
an'  cried  out:  'Help  me!  Sabe  me!'  De 
angel  sort  ob  smiled  lobinly  an'  said:  'Dust 
thou  beliebe  I  kin  sabe  you  ? ' 

" An'  de  man  said:  'Yes,  I  beliebe  it.' 

"Den  de  angel  said:  'Are  yer  willin'  ter  be 
sabed  ? ' 

"De  man  wus  'bout  fallin'  by  dis  time  and 
skeered  purty  nigh  ter  def,  an'  he  knowed  he 
couldn't  sabe  hisself,  an'  so  he  cried  out  mighty 
quick:  'Yes,  I  am  willin'  ter  be  sabed.' 

"  Den  de  angel  smiled  and  said: 

"'Let  go.'" 

t 


CHAPTER  NINETEENTH. 


'loofc  bere.  upon  tbis  picture,  ant>  on  tbis, 
Sbafccspcarc. 


ONE  evening,  in  the  height  of  the  autumn 
season,  there  was  a  gay  assemblage  of  nobility 
in  the  brilliant  drawing-rooms  of  the  Strange 
Palace. 

Drawing-room  lectures  were  not  then  so  fash 
ionable,  but  Zulona's  fame  made  them  a  success. 

She  chose  for  her  theme,  Sketches  from  Myth 
ological  lore.  The  passion  and  pathos  with 
which  she  interpreted  them,  differed  from  any 
thing  heretofore  given,  but  her  speech  was  so 
forcible,  and  logical,  and  the  imagery  so  brilliant, 
her  auditors  were  charmed,  if  not  convinced. 
When  she  had  finished  speaking,  she  wove  the 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  107 

different  characters  into  one  story,  singing  the 
while  in  a  low  recitative.  From  these,  she  passed 
to  portrayals  with  such  realistic  passion  that 
strong- men  shivered. 

The  Indian  was  present,  but  did  not  seem  to 
understand  the  lecture,  although  he  said  the 
English  lord  read  of  like  pictures  many  times. 

Zulona's  wit  and  brilliancy  of  repartee  were 
as  marked  as  her  cleverness  in  lecturing.  The 
gentlemen  sometimes  learned  this,  to  their  cha 
grin.  "Her  wit,"  to  use  the  words  of  Black- 
more,  "was  full  of  corners,  strange,  jagged,  and 
uncomfortable. ' ' 

She  looked  so  young  she  appeared  girlish,  and 
was  radiant  with  her  triumph.  She  knew  the 
lecture  had  made  her  the  most  brilliant  success 
of  the  Capital.  Her  face  rippled  with  smiles, 
now  coquettish,  then  perfectly  artless,  charming, 
tantalizing.  No  one  in  the  Strange  Palace  had 
seen  her  thus.  She  had  many  opposing  elements 
in  her  nature,  seeming  contradictions,  and  yet 
these  moods,  if  they  might  be  so  called,  while 
never  related  to  each  other,  were  always  in  har 
mony  with  her.  She  was  more  honest  than 


IO8  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

most  people — she  ever  acted  as  she  felt.  And 
one  had  the  faith  that  she  lived  up  to  her  princi 
ples,  though  what  they  were  he  never  knew. 

A  little  incident  occurred  that  proved  her  com 
plexity  of  character,  and  also  afforded  much 
amusement. 

The  lecture  was  on  "  The  Religion  of  Art." 
She  illustrated  by  parallelisms  in  the  spiritual 
realm,  throwing  so  beautiful  a  devotion  into  the 
attitude,  she  looked  one  of  Fra  Angelica's  saints. 
While  thus,  she  felt  the  audience  were  either  not 
in  a  mood,  or  incompetent  to  appreciate.  The 
pose  ended.  Zulona  leaned  forward,  and  whis 
pering  to  a  clergyman,  said:  "Hell  and  damna 
tion!" 


CHAPTER  TWENTIETH. 


fot  tbe  boJ>^  is  not  one  member,  but  man?. 
Cor.  12=14. 


ZULONA'S  next  lecture  was  on  the  Birth,  of 
the  Opera,  continuing  its  history  to  the  present 
century. 

The  room  in  which  she  spoke,  was  paneled  in 
yellow  and  gold,  with  a  frieze  of  bronze  poppies 
so  exquisitely  arranged  that  one  felt  the  magic 
wand  waving  over  him,  and  he  drifted  into  the 
land  of  dreams  —  dreams  wherein  one  heard 
music  in  the  softly-flowing  draperies,  whose  in 
tricate  designs  and  coloring  were  ever  telling 
stories  of  some  artist's  life. 

Zulona  was  robed  in  harmony  with  her  sur 
roundings.  As  she  arose,  her  eye  fell  on  a  book 


110  SHE  OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

lying  upon  the  table.  Her  face  lighted  with 
pleasure — the  book  was  "The  Life  of  Edwin 
Forrest,"  by  Wm.  R.  Alger. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  I  will  first  read  what  Alger 
says  on  the  Church  and  Stage.  No  one  has 
written  so  well.  Indeed,  I  think  no  one  is  so 
competent  to  discuss  both  subjects,  as  the  author 
of  this  book." 

With  one  hand  resting  on  the  page,  she  read  in 
that  perfectly  modulated  voice,  the  chapter  all 
the  world  should  know.  The  author  clearly 
shows  the  origin  of  the  stage,  then  the  different 
steps  it  takes  till  it  becomes  an  independent 
guild,  declaring  its  freedom  from  the  church  and 
courts.  Side  by  side,  he  carries  the  Church  and 
Stage,  showing  the  mission  of  each,  how  far 
both  fall  short  of  their  mission,  and  why  since 
their  separation,  there  has  ever  been  enmity  be 
tween  them. 

Then  in  a  lengthy  discourse,  emphasizing 
what  she  had  read,  the  Prophetess  advanced  new 
thoughts  on  music,  going  into  the  mysteries  of 
art,  in  a  manner  she  had  not  been  known  to  do 
before.  It  has  been  said  of  Goethe  that  "his 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  Ill 

penetration  of  every  secret  of  the  fine  arts  made 
him  statuesque."  It  was  true  of  Zulona.  She 
gave  hints  and  criticisms  to  the  painter,  the 
sculptor,  the  musician,  the  poet,  all  of  whom 
declared  they  had  received  light.  She  resembled 
Goethe  in  many  respects,  yet  one  sometimes 
wondered  if  she  perceived  the  highest,  and  if 
the  doubt  must  be  entertained  of  her  "  capacity 
of  self-surrender  to  the  moral  sentiment." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FIRST. 


"  Q,  Bbc  t>otb  teacb  tbe  torches  to  bum  bright! 
•fccr  beaut?  bangs  upon  tbe  cbeefe  of  nigbt 
lifce  a  ricb  jewel  in  an  £tbiop'a  ear. 
JBeaut?  too  ricb  for  use,  for  eartb  too  dear!" 

Sbahespcarc. 


ONE  finds  it  difficult  to  analyze  the  Indian,  so 
near  to  nature  is  he.  When  in  Zulona's  pres 
ence,  Garangula  seemed  to  think  of  her  only, 
yet,  appeared  to  forget  her  when  interested  in  the 
many  wonderful  things  of  the  Strange  Palace. 
Often  when  entering  the  Egyptian  Apartments,  he 
would  speak  softly,  "  Garangula  wonders  if  he 
will  find  the  dwelling-place  empty.  O,  pale-face, 
O,  beautiful  pale-face !  "  No  look  of  uneasiness 
came,  only  an  expression  of  deep  faith,  as  he 
whispered:  "The  Great  Spirit  will  lead  Garan 
gula  to  her." 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  113 

Garangula  never  reasoned.  The  young  Eng 
lishman  had  endeavored  to  cultivate  that  faculty, 
but  he  had  given  up  in  despair. 

One  day,  in  reply  to  something  Zulona  told 
him,  he  said:  "Garangula  felt  that  at  the 
theatre." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  but  you  did  not  know 
the  reason  you  felt  so.  You  could  not  have 
analyzed  your  feelings." 

"  Garangula  does  not  wish  that,"  he  replied. 
"  He  feels.  Is  it  not  all  ?  Garangula  does  not 
understand  how  one  could  reason  about  a  feel 
ing — "  he  hesitated  a  moment.  Zulona  looked 
at  him  strangely. 

"But,  Garangula,  I  wish  you  would  ask  me 
reasons  concerning  the  principles  I  advance. 
Who  knows  what  you  may  be  in  the  future? 
Perhaps  you  may  have  need  of  them." 

"Garangula  cannot  think  the  time  will  ever 
come  when  he  shall  wish  to  know  the  reason  for 
anything.  When  a  truth  is  given  him,  he  either 
knows  it  or  he  does  not  know  it." 

His  lessons  in  Art  continued,  if  lessons  they 
could  be  called. 


114  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

Zulona  had.  never  known  so  interesting  a 
pupil,  and  yet  so  difficult  to  teach.  A  subject 
had  to  be  presented  to  him  in  a  certain  way  and 
form,  and  these  were  quite  different  from  any 
thing  she  had  hitherto  undertaken.  There  were 
many  times  when  he  did  not  seem  to  comprehend 
her  meaning,  yet  looked  at  her  so  earnestly, 
that  she  said:  "I  believe  Garangula  does 
understand  the  truths  I  tell  him.  That  double 
consciousness,  which  everyone  possesses,  is  more 
highly  developed  in  him,  or  rather  it  has  not 
been  educated  out  of  him,  and  I  seem  to  be  look 
ing  through  one,  and  speaking  to  the  other  that 
understands  all." 

On  one  occasion,  she  presented  a  formula  that 
perplexed  him ;  he  arose  and  said :  "Garangula 
feels  his  mother  would  not  be  pleased  for  him  to 
listen  to  the  beautiful  pale-face  to-day,"  and  left 
the  room. 

It  was  one  of  his  peculiarities  not  to  exchange 
a  greeting  or  farewell  On  entering  a  room  he 
spoke  his  thoughts,  and  they  were  often  the 
same  the  people  were  discussing.  His  exit 
was  as  unconventional  as  his  entrance. 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  115 

After  one  of  his  lessons,  he  turned  when  he 
had  reached  the  door  and  said:  "  O  Lady,  thou 
art  beautiful  like  the  trees  and  clouds  and  stars." 

Notwithstanding  Garangula's  many  words  of 
like  manner,  she  was  puzzled  to  understand 
him.  Many  of  her  followers  loved  her  wildly, 
passionately,  and  she  scarcely  gave  them  a 
thought;  but  this  Indian  interested  her.  His 
very  frankness  baffled  her,  so  little  had  the 
world  in  common  with  him. 

Zulona's  success  and  popularity  in  society  was 
unquestioned;  she  held  brilliant  receptions  in 
the  Egyptian  Apartments.  This  made  a  great 
difference  in  the  peaceful  life  of  Aunt  Dinah, 
who,  regardless  of  the  confusion  in  the  Strange 
Palace,  moved  along  quiet  ways,  reposeful  as 
only  her  race  can  be;  happy  in  knowing  her 
mistress  was  admired  by  the  greatest  of  the 
world.  But  soon  foreign  domestics  were  sent  to 
Zulona,  and  Aunt  Dinah  felt  her  reign  was  well- 
nigh  ended.  She  longed  more  and  more  to  find 
her  son. 

Wanda  still  mourned  for  Rachel's  gentle  touch 
and  song. 


Il6  SHE  OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

The  first  Reception  Zulona  gave,  she  invited 
Garangula  to  be  present.  He  soon  became  the 
cynosure  of  all  eyes.  The  ladies  raved  over  his 
handsome  face  and  figure,  and,  stranger  than  all, 
they  accepted  his  dress,  which  had  been  modified 
only  a  trifle.  It  was  noticeable  that  the 
gentlemen  present  looked  tame  and  common 
place  beside  that  regal  child  of  nature,  who  re 
mained  true  to  himself  with  a  quiet  dignity  that 
charmed  all.  Their  dress  seemed  ugly  in 
contrast  with  his,  which  though  wild  and  pictu 
resque  had  nothing  of  the  buccaneering  appear 
ance. 

Garangula  would  have  been  unrelated  to  the 
ordinary  costume  of  the  day.  Be  it  said  to 
the  credit  of  the  civilized  man,  that  much  as  he 
may  have  degenerated  from  the  simplicity  of  olden 
times,  he  has  not  retrograded  so  far  as  to  be  in 
harmony  with  the  dress  he  now  wears. 

The  dress  of  woman  has  many  faults,  but  it 
must  be  confessed  it  has  in  it  some  of  the  ele 
ments  of  beauty,  entirely  wanting  in  that  of 
man. 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  1 17 

Garangula's  frankness  and  native  costume 
were  inseparable. 

Zulona  was  as  unconventional  as  Garangula, 
and  was  not  disconcerted  in  the  least,  when 
Garangula  said  to  a  lady  to  whom  he  had  just 
been  presented :  "  Thou  art  like  the  flowers  by 
the  roadside  where  Garangula  has  knelt.  He 
has  looked  into  their  hearts  and  they  have 
talked  back  to  him.  Wilt  thou,  too,  answer  his 
words  of  love?"  His  eyes  turned  toward 
Zulona,  and  he  said :  "  O,  Star-Kyed-One,  the 
Great  Spirit  has  been  kind  to  lead  Garangula 
amid  so  much  beauty." 

By  this  time,  Garangula  and  his  companion 
were  the  observed  of  all.  Some  were  shocked ; 
one  duchess  nearly  fainted,  and  had  to  be  led 
from  the  room,  but  Garangula  stood  there,  serene 
and  unconscious,  giving  similar  words  to  all; 
and  truth,  as  it  ever  does,  won  the  day.  The 
ladies,  when  leaving,  declared  to  their  hostess 
she  had  the  most  charming  guest  they  had  ever 
known.  The  gentlemen  expressed  their  regrets 
at  not  having  been  born  a  savage. 

The   day   following,  Zulona    was    reading   a 


Il8  SHE  OK  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

poem,  illustrating  by  allegorical  gestures.  Ga- 
rangula  threw  his  head  back,  closed  his  eyes, 
then  gently  opened  them  in  the  attitude  of 

ecstasy All  was  still Colors  floated 

through  the  room 

Garangula  opened  his  eyes,  arose,  and  said: 
"Thy  voice,  O  Lady,  is  like  the  colors  surround 
ing  thee." 

Instantly  the  tones  changed;  she  hastily  took 
up  Shelley's  poems  and  read.  Finishing,  she 
threw  the  book  aside,  and  said:  "  It  is  of  no  con 
sequence  whether  there  is  a  God  or  not." 

A  shadow  passed  over  Garangula' s  face.  He 
said:  "Garangula  must  stand  under  the  open 
sky." 

Softly,  mysteriously,  a  voice  stole  on  the  air : 
"  Never  has  an  artist  denied  God.  For  him,  Art 
is  still  a  mystic  fountain  from  which  flows  celes 
tial  perfume,  and  through  which  he  feels,  he 
sees,  he  touches  his  God,  and  is  filled  with  irre 
pressible  raptures." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SECOND. 


" "Cdbcrcf ore  5  0a%  unto  tbee,  l3cr  sine,  wbicb  are 
manv.,  are  forgiven;  for  abe  loved  mucb:  but  to 
vobom  little  la  forgiven,  tbe  same  lovetb  little." 
lube  7.   47. 


RACHEI/  had  found  her  retreat  from  the  haunts 
of  men — a  seclusion  the  Sacred  Brotherhood 
might  envy.  On  one  side,  were  the  sea  and 
beetling  cliffs ;  from  the  other,  the  land  stretched 
away  in  smiling  downs  and  sunny  uplands. 
The  world  had  not  yet  reached  that  spot.  No 
boats  ever  landed  on  the  coasts,  save  a  few  wrecks 
washed  there  by  the  storms. 

Rachel  lay  on  the  golden  sands,  watching  the 
lights  and  shadows  on  the  waters,  the  sails  in  the 
distance,  the  blue  sky  overhead. 

"  Surely,"  she  said,  "  these   are  all  sermons 


120  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

for  me.  In  every  wave  that  touches  the  shore  I 
hear  the  voice  of  God,  but — afar  off." 

When  the  sea  was  stormy,  and  the  waves  beat 
wildly,  till  she  could  no  longer  listen,  she  walked 
in  the  quiet  country  lanes  that  whispered, 
"Peace!"  Oh,  the  cool,  shady,  English  lanes  ! 
The  long  lanes,  bordered  by  fields  of  golden 
grain,  the  glowing  sunsets,  'the  slowly  gathering 
twilight  throwing  shadows  among  the  heavy, 
dark  foliage  of  the  trees,  that  rise  sentinel-like 
along  the  way.  Oh,  the  cool  shadows  of  English 
lanes !  The  restful  shadows !  They  come  back 
to  one  in  after  years  and  soothe  him. 

Rachel  was  led  to  that  beautiful  spot,  by  her 
of  the  mysterious  Light.  There  she  found  a 
home  with  an  aged,  childless  couple,  who 
soon  learned  to  love  Rachel  as  their  own 
daughter,  saying,  "  God  has  been  good  to  send 
us  this  stray  lamb."  Rachel  returned  their 
affection  with  greater  warmth  than  she  dis 
played  toward  anyone  save  Wanda.  It  pleased 
them  when  she  called  them  Uncle  Jonah  and 
Aunt  Mary. 

Uncle  Jonah  often  walked  not  far  behind,  or 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  121 

stood  near  Rachel  when  she  climbed  some  cliff. 
"Lest  harm  might  come  to  her"  he  would  say. 
"  Our  old  hearts  would  be  sore  indeed,  for  she 
looks  so  like  the  one  we  lost." 

Three  months  had  passed  since  Rachel  went 
to  the  hermitage.  One  morning,  she  strolled 
along  the  sunny  downs,  her  heart  filled  with  the 
gladness  around  her.  But  as  she  walked  on,  the 
ever-vexed  question  arose  in  her  mind.  She  did 
not  speak  her  thoughts,  but  they  filled  her 
whole  being.  Suddenly  she  was  startled  by  a 
voice  saying:  "Feed  my  lambs,"  and  looked  up 
to  see  a  young  artist  sketching  on  the  cliff  in 
front  of  her. 

"  Yes,  that  is  it — '  Feed  my  lambs,'  "  he  said 
again,  without  looking  up  from  his  work. 

Rachel  stopped;  his  words  seemed  strangely 
in  answer  to  her  question.  As  though  impelled 
by  some  force,  she  went  nearer,  looked  at  him 
and  said:  "  How  could  you  know  I  was  troubled 
with  a  question  ?  " 

He  did  not  look  around,  but  continued  his 
strokes,  as  he  said:  "How  did  I  know?  How 
do  we  know  anything?  " 


122  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

"  How  do  we  know  anything  ? "  Rachel  re 
peated.  "  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  tell ;  I  had  not 
thought  much  about  it." 

"Just  so."  He  went  a  few  steps  from  his 
picture  to  get  a  better  view.  "  If  that  could  have 
been  solved  as  it  will  be  some  day,  all  the  vexed 
questions  would  have  been  in  their  graves  long 
ago." 

"  You  talk  like  a  philosopher,"  she  said. 

"  I  am,"  he  replied,  and  resumed  the  use  of 
his  brush.  All  this  time  he  had  not  taken  his 
eyes  from  his  work. 

She  thought,  "  I  will  pass  on;  perhaps  I  have 
disturbed  his  work." 

"Oh,  no,  you  are  not  disturbing  me  in  the 
least;  stay,  if  you  care  to  do  so,"  he  said. 

She  had  been  so  absorbed,  his  first  words  did 
not  startle  her,  for  after  all,  it  might  have  been 
a  coincidence.  But  this  was  a  direct  answer  to 
her  thought. 

"  How  can  you  do  this  ?  "  she  asked  looking 
at  him  wonderingly. 

"How  can  we  do  anything?"  he  replied. 
"  Answer  me  this  and  my  first  question,  and  I 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  123 

will  tell  you  all  things  in  heaven  and  earth." 
Still  he  had  not  looked  up. 

"  You  puzzle  me,"  she  said. 

"  Then  do  not  be  puzzled  about  anything. 
Be  puzzled  about  everything.  Paradoxical? 
Well,  I  believe  in  paradoxes,  don't  you  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  answered. 

"Well,  then  you  should,"  he  said.  "You 
should  know  all  things." 

"  You  are  modest  in  your  requirements  of  me," 
she  replied  with  a  smile.  She  no  longer  felt  ill 
at  ease  with  this  stranger.  She  moved  nearer, 
and  sat  at  the  foot  of  a  tree.  "That's 
right,"  he  said.  "  Let  us  be  friends.  Universal 
brotherhood  beats  the  twin-soul  business  all  to 
pieces. 

"  Unless  I  am  related  to  everyone,  I  feel 
mean  and  selfish.  When  I  go  to  church,  to  the 
theatre,  unless  I  am  related  not  only  to  the 
players,  but  to  everyone  in  the  house,  from  the 
pit  to  the  gallery,  I  feel  niggardly,  and  so  it 
is  everywhere  I  go.  Yea,  I  must  feel  related  to 


124  SHE   OF   THE    HOLY   LIGHT. 

all  creation ;  nothing  else  is  life.  I  love  all  the 
world,  don't  you  ?  " 

"Why,  I  am  afraid  I  do  not,"  said  Rachel 
hesitatingly. 

"  Then  you  are  a  vagabond  in  this  beautiful 
world,"  he  said  positively.  "  I  should  think  you 
would  be  ashamed  to  look  in  this  sunlight,  and 
say  you  do  not  love  everyone.  All  things  are 
glorified  to-day.  I  met  some  rough  looking 
sailors  on  my  tramp  this  morning.  Through 
their  weather-beaten  faces,  shone  the  majesty  of 
soul,  and  I  said:  'Peace  be  with  ye,  brothers.' 
Further  on  I  saw  a  peasant  woman,  with  a  babe 
at  her  breast.  She  became  a  Madonna  more 
beautiful  than  any  Raphael  painted. 

"And  you  —  you,  with  your  soft  eyes  and 
brown  hair  and  beautifully  chiseled  face,  are  a 
miserable  beggar — are  you?  "  he  continued. 

"  Alas !  "  she  sighed,  "  a  miserable  beggar ! 
But  how  should  you  know  if  my  hair  be  light 
or  dark?  You  have  not  looked  at  me." 

"  I  can  tell  you  more  than  that.  You  are  tall 
and  rather  stately  in  your  bearing;  graceful, 
both  from  nature  and  efforts  to  become  more  so. 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  125 

You  have  beautiful  hands ;  you  are  gentle,  have 
also  great  strength,  though  few  know  this  yet. 
You  are  not  vain,  and  you — have  never  loved." 

Rachel  had  risen  by  this  time.  She  had  not 
been  accustomed  to  having  strangers  talk  to  her 
in  this  wise. 

"Just  so,"  he  replied,  "but  I  am  not  a  stranger. 
Can  you  not  see  that,  feel  it,  or  know  it  in  some 
way  ?  " 

"I  have  not  seen  you  before,"  she  said.  "Fur 
ther  than  that  I  do  not  know." 

"And  do  not  wish  to,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 
"I  am  sorry,  because  we  will  meet  often." 

"You  will  pardon  me  for  saying  you  have 
judged  aright,"  she  said,  and  moved  to  go. 

"  Oh,  pray  do  not  beg  my  pardon  for  any 
thing.  I  am  grateful  for  your  indifference,"  he 
said,  carelessly. 

"  Why  are  you  grateful  for  my  indifference?  " 

"Why?  Because  I  am  a  grateful  dog  any 
way.  I  am  thankful  for  everything  I  have  in 
this  life.  I  am  grateful  for  all  the  blows  that 
have  been  given  me,  and  they  have  not  been 
scarce.  Grateful  for  all  things,  because  every 


126  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

little  thing  lias  had  its  part  to  play.  I  am 
thankful  for  all  the  sins  I  ever  committed — you 
open  those  soft  eyes  in  surprise — and  they  have 
been  more  numerous  than  could  be  accounted  to 
your  sunny  head  and  pure  heart,  but  I  have 
gratitude  for  them  also,  because  they  go  to  make 
up  the  whole  sum  of  my  life ;  they  have  been  a 
part  of  it;  they  have  been  my  discipline.  I  am 
glad  I  have  sinned,  for  I  have  repented,  and 
through  that,  have  gained  knowledge  which 
makes  me  love  all  the  world  more. 

u  Why,  Mary  Magdalen  became  the  grandest 
woman  of  all.  She  had  overcome  the  passions 
of  the  world;  she  could  no  longer  be  tempted. 
When  Mary  Magdalen  said:  'Rabboni!  which 
is  to  say,  Master,'  she  was  greater  than  the 
innocent.  The  Christ  within  her  had  spoken ; 
she  knew  and  had  overcome ;  she  had  purity  and 
wisdom.  No  one  seems  to  understand  this.  If 
more  could  comprehend  it,  they  would  take  cour 
age  and  go  on,  instead  of  sinking  lower  into  the 
depths  of  shame.  And  yet  Christ  made  it  so 
plain. 

" '  Of  him  to  whom  much  is  forgiven,  the  same 


SHE  OF   THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  127 

loveth  much.'  Now  I  have  shocked  your  sweet, 
gentle  soul,  and  should  beg  your  pardon,  but  I 
never  ask  anyone's  pardon.  I  forgive  some  one 
else  for  something  he  has  done  to  me." 

Rachel  started  away. 

He  said:  "You  are  seeking  Truth." 

She  stopped. 

"Truth,"  he  said,  "Truth  is  everywhere.  It 
appears  to  me  there  is  a  bit  of  truth  in  all  things. 
The  thief  shows  some  truth — the  murderer  also. 
In  my  opinion  the  truth  illustrated  by  the  thief 
on  the  cross  has  never  been  fully  understood  as 
Christ  intended.  Mark  me,  I  did  not  say  mani 
fested  the  truth,  but  illustrated  it. 

"Yes,  I  am  glad  I  have  sinned" — again  he 
moved  a  few  steps  from  his  picture  and  con 
tinued:  "just  as  I  am  glad  I  made  the  mistake 
in  that  shadow;  it  was  too  dark  and  it  taught 
me  something  about  white  sunlight.  Ah,  do  not 
all  our  mistakes,  if  understood,  teach  us  some 
thing  of  the  White  Sunlight?  Courage,  sinners ! 
Lift  your  heads  into  the  Light.  Added  to  a 
great  sin,  sorrow  or  love,  must  be  the  earnest, 
unselfish  effort  to  help  our  fellow-man.  This 


128  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

brings  greatness.  You  have  never  known  either, 
else  you  would  not  be  seeking  Truth  in  the 
tame  way  in  which  you  do;  but  greatness  is 
there.  If  you  had  loved,  you  would  be  more  in 
earnest,  and  would  find  Truth  sooner. 

"  I  believe  Christ  had  been  all  things,  knew 
all  things,  else  how  could  He  have  forgiven,  how 
could  He  have  sympathized  with  us  as  He  did  ?  " 

"  Re-incarnation ?  Do  you  believe  in  that?" 
asked  Rachel,  showing  more  interest  than  she 
had  done  before. 

"  Why  speak  of  incarnation  ?  "  the  artist  re 
plied.  "  We  are  being  re-incarnated  every  day. 
I  am  glad  I  was  bad  yesterday,  because  I  can 
improve  to-day.  I  am  rejoiced  I  can  look  every 
fellow-creature  square  in  the  face,  no  matter  how 
debased  he  is,  clasp  him  by  the  hand  and  say : 
'  Yes,  I  know  all  about  it,  my  brother ;  come  on 
and  let  me  help  you.'  I  am  glad  I  can  look  at 
the  criminal  with  the  rope  around  his  neck  and 
say  honestly :  '  I  understand.  We  all  rise  from 
like  conditions.' 

"  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  sink  to  hell  to-day, 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  129 

and  do  a  deed  to-morrow  the  angels  would  smile 
on." 

"  Would  you  not  be  greater,"  said  Rachel,  "if 
you  had  all  th^e  heights  and  depths  of  life,  but 
lived  only  in  the  heights  and  looked  down 
serenely  on  the  depths,  and  with  compassion  for 
others,  and  said :  '  I  could  go  there  and  come  back, 
but— I  will  not?'" 

"I  knew  you  were  going  to.  say  that,"  he 
replied.  "  The  thought  came  to  you  then ;  it 
was  an  inspiration.  The  angels  brought  it. 
Every  beautiful  thought  is  an  angel  visit. 

"  But  you  will  observe  by  recalling  a  moment, 
that  I  said :  '  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  sink  to  the 
depths  and  rise  to  the  heights  and  be  great  still.' 
I  did  not  say  I  would  do  it,  but,"  and  he  smiled 
as  he  said  it,  "I  think  I  should.  To  go  back — 
it  is  a  great  thing  to  be  in  sympathy  with  all 
humanity.  In  truth,  I  believe  it  the  greatest  of 
all  things.  And  the  day  is  not  distant  when  you 
will  have  sympathy.  It  may  come  through  great 
suffering,  I  do  not  see  clearly;  but  you  will  be 
redeemed  through  a  miracle,  I  know  not  what  it 
may  be." 


130  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

"The  days  of  miracles  are  past,"  Rachel 
replied  softly.  "  I  hope  for  no  such  redemption. 
I  must  work  out  my  own  salvation  and  I  do  not 
know  how." 

"  You  are  almost  an  angel,  and  yet  you  have 
not  come  into  the  realization  of  this  through 
helping  another.  You  can  never  become  great 
save  through  this.  There  is  many  a  one  with  a 
less  guiltless  soul,  doing  more  good  in  the  world 
than  you  are.  'Wisdom  cries  out  in  the  streets 
and  no  man  regards  it.'  You  have  been  a  study 
to  me  ever  since  I  knew  the  circle  of  our  lives 
were  to  touch  each  other.  I  see  why  you  are  so 
good,  and  yet  there  is  no  goodness  in  you ;  so 
great,  and  still  no  greatness  manifesting  itself. 
Do  not  think  I  am  beginning  to  see  this  to-day. 
I  saw  it  months  ago.  Yes,  the  veil  is  being 
lifted,  and  this  shadow  will  vanish,"  he  said,  as 
he  dipped  his  brush  into  the  paint,  and  gave  a 
touch  that  proved  satisfactory,  as  he  looked 
critically  at  the  picture.  All  this  time  he  was 
diligently  at  work,  never  taking  his  eyes  from 
the  canvas. 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  131 

He  gave  a  vigorous  stroke  of  the  brush,  while 
his  arm  moved  in  a  graceful  line.  "  But  the  day 
of  miracles  is  not  yet  over.  Everything  is  a 
miracle  to  me  to-day — that  sky  and  sea,  the 
cliff  yonder,  this  hand,  your  angel  face,"  he  said 
softly,  while  he  gave  delicate  touches  to  the  clouds 
on  his  picture,  "and  I  am  waiting  to  see  you 
redeemed." 

"  I,  too,  am  waiting,"  said  Rachel,  as  she  rose 
and  stood  looking  at  the  sea. 

"Stay  a  moment,  I  will  have  finished  soon. 
After  all,  I  should  like  to  look  in  your  face, 
although  I  know  what  I  shall  see,  but  you  do 
not  know  what  is  in  mine.  I  never  stop  my 
work,  no  matter  who  enters  my  studio,  and  this 
world  is  mine  to-day.  I  think  this  is  true 
courtesy.  If  I  do  not  allow  myself  to  be  inter 
rupted,  my  friend  knows  he  is  not  intruding. 
If  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  him,  I  do  not  tell 
him  a  lie  by  saying  something ;  but  I  listen  to 
all  he  speaks.  I  hate  the  lies  that  are  being 
told  every  day,  by  honest  people.  The  only 
society  in  which  I  have  sincere  enjoyment  is 
where  we  are  truthful  and  I  have  just  one  honest 


132  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

friend.  I  go  to  that  home,  sometimes  walk  in 
without  addressing  anyone,  fling  myself  on  a 
sofa,  stay  there  an  hour,  leave  as  I  have  come — 
no  one  has  spoken  and  no  one  has  lied.  I  love 
truth  in  all  things."  He  gave  a  final  stroke  of 
the  brush,  put  the  palette  on  the  camp-stool, 
walked  toward  Rachel  and  held  out  his  hand. 

She  took  it  and  looked  full  in  his  face.  She 
saw  large  gray  eyes — no,  not  that  color.  Well, 
they  looked  so  then ;  to-morrow  they  might  be 
something  else  —  a  face  that  was  somewhat 
square  and  boyish.  His  blue-black  hair  was 
bushy,  and  he  had  a  way  of  making  himself 
appear  almost  anything  by  a  slight  movement  of 
abruptly  pulling  the  locks  gown,  or  gently  push 
ing  them  back  from  his  brow — anything  from  a 
demon  to  a  saint.  A  light  mustache,  not  at  all 
in  keeping  with  his  bushy  hair,  perhaps  it  was 
kind  nature  revealing  a  mouth  that  smiled  with 
all  the  sweetness  of  a  woman.  He  was  slight 
and  in  stature  small,  though  one  never  thought 
of  this,  there  was  so  great  a  soul  looking  out 
from  his  eyes.  He  had  so  much  greatness  in 
his  being,  he  made  everyone  else  feel  great. 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  133 

As  lie  held  Rachel's  hand,  he  looked  deeply 
into  her  eyes,  smiled,  released  her  hand,  saying 
"Rachel."  He  turned  from  her,  took  his  pic 
ture  from  the  easel,  put  his  materials  in  order, 
and  left  her. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THIRD. 


man,  be.&otb  bcstritc  tbe  narrow  worlfc 
lihe  a  Colossus;  and  we  pctts  men 
tUalft  unt>er  bis  buge  legs,  and  peep  about 
"Co  finb  ourselves  Msbonorable  graves." 

Sbahcspcarc. 


IT  was  announced  that  Mazaro  would  give  a 
festival.  Festival  of  the  Universe,  he  called 
it — every  nation  was  to  be  represented.  "  Some 
day,"  he  laughed,  "  I  shall  have  inhabitants  from 
the  planets.  There  are  said  to  be  signs  in  the 
heavens  now." 

To  Zulano,  was  assigned  the  reception  of  the 
Orientals,  Mazaro  desiring  to  see  Garangula 
among  them. " 

The  Oriental  salon  looked  as  though  bor 
rowed  from  eastern  skies  and  sunsets.  Vases, 
holding  stately  palms,  stood  in  the  corners; 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  135 

lamps  of  rare  workmanship  flung  out  many- 
hued  flames ;  faint  perfumes  floated  on  the  air, 
mingling  with  incense.  A  varying  light  of 
green  and  gold,  flashed  mysteriously,  wavered  a 
moment,  then  vanished.  On  low  seats  and  rugs 
placed  here  and  there,  the  guests  reclined. 

They  moved — it  was  poetry.  They  spoke — 
soft  music  filled  the  room.  Their  wonderful 
jewels  flashed  with  the  varying  lights.  Zulona 
seemed  a  breath  wafted  from  the  Orient. . . . 
More-*-she  was  a  living,  breathing  incarnation  of 
their  poetry.  Her  robe  was  a  marvel — a  strange 
combination  of  Nile  green,  with  gold  net-work 
over  it.  The  net-work  was  woven  into  the 
texture  of  the  silk  in  some  places — then  a 
space  in  relief,  and  you  looked  through  it 
to  the  green.  It  was  like  a  web  in  the  sun. 
Through  these  golden  webs  at  the  waist,  the 
head  of  a  curious  snake  glistened.  Its  eyes 
were  of  the  same  color  as  the  strange  lights 
of  gold  and  green,  ?.nd  when  they  flashed,  the 
snake  seemed  to  move.  It  looked  an  emblem  of 
some  lost  Order.  Her  beautiful  bosom  bare, 
save  the  gold  net-work  caught  up  with  small 


136  SHE  OF  THE   HOLY  LIGHT. 

emerald  beads.  In  the  centre  of  the  salon,  was 
an  ancient  musical  instrument,  with  dragon 
heads;  over  it  hung  a  pale  gold  cloth,  heavily 
embroidered  with  characters  from  the  Koran. 
L/eaning  against  the  instrument,  was  Garangula. 
He  had  arrayed  himself  in  his  most  barbaric 
costume — no  one  knew  why.  His  bronze  body 
was  bare  to  the  waist,  save  a  covering  of  Indian 
ornaments ;  on  his  arm,  he  wore  a  broad  band  of 
wrought  gold.  In  his  ears  were  huge  gold 
rings,  set  with  precious  stones.  His  hair  was 
parted  in  the  centre  of  the  brow  and  fell  in 
straight  lines  to  the  shoulder.  From  his  eyes 
there  came  the  same  soft  expression  of  the 
Oriental ....  yet  deeper,  more  profound. 

Rugged,  massive,  grand,  he  stood  there,  su 
preme  in  the  consciousness  of  being  a  child  of 
the  Great  Spirit.  Being  to  him  was  no  mys 
tery  ....  It  was  simple  and  profound — therefore 
he  loved  all  that  Was.  The  white  man  he  could 
not  understand,  but  he  bore  him  no  malice.  He 
loved  everything  that*  breathed  ....  and  to  him 
all  things  breathed.  "  The  stars,  the  skies,  the 
trees,  the  rocks,  thou  and  Garangula  belong  to 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  137 

each  other,"  lie  said,  in  the  old  days  on  the 
plains. 

"  Garangula  is  among  his  kindred.  They 
have  come  from  the  Happy  Hunting-Grounds," 
he  spoke  softly. 

Zulona,  reclining  on  a  divan  near  the  instru 
ment,  dropped  her  fan;  Garangula  gracefully, 
humbly  knelt,  took  it  up,  and  slowly  fanned  her. 

A  page  touched  a  lyre.  Zulona  in  a  low  voice, 
sang  a  voluptuous  song  of  beauty. 

The  gold  and  green  lights  flashed,  the  snake 
moved.  Garangula' s  eyes  became  transfixed —  . 
At  last,  he  looked  down  at  his  own  girdle,  and 
there,  hidden  amid  the  profusion  of  other  orna 
ments,  he  found  the  same  snake,  with  the  same 
green,  glistening  eyes ....  No  pen  can  describe 
the  look  that  came  over  his  face.  He  rose  and 
glided  swiftly  away.  Zulona  was  a  little  startled, 
but  continued  in  a  languorous,  musical  tone,  the 
refrain  being  sung  by  voices  in  the  distance. 

Garangula  was  alone  in  the  garden,  his  face 
bearing  a  look  of  pained  wonder. 

She  of  the  Holy  Light  appeared  before  him. 


138  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

UO  Great  Spirit!  O  Holy  Light!  Garan- 
gula  cannot  understand,"  he  cried. 

"  Garangula,  leave! "  she  whispered. 

He  drew  his  hands  across  his  eyes  and  looked 
upward — the  Light  was  gone.  He  uttered  a  cry 
that  had  tones  of  the  wild  animal  in  pain .... 
a  lofty  soul  striving  to  comprehend.  Then,  in 
a  voice  of  exquisite  pathos,  he  said  brokenly 
in  his  own  language : 

"Klutchman  chaso  copa  nesika  tem-as 

O  mother,  come  now! " 

In  the  shadow  of  a  palm  tree  was  Mazaro,  a 
curious  smile  playing  about  his  mouth. 

The  look  of  sorrow  on  Garangula's  face,  and 
the  tone  of  grieved  wonder,  were  seen  and  heard 
for  the  last  time. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FOURTH. 


'"Cbc  fear  of  man  bringetb  a  snare." 
prov.  29.  25. 


RACHEL  returned  to  Uncle  Jonah's  house  in  a 
different  state  of  mind.  She  was  thoroughly 
aroused,  and  thought  deeply  for  the  first  time. 
Though  still "  stately  in  her  bearing,"  she  walked 
with  bowed  head. 

Truth  was  all  around  her,  and  she  had  not 
recognized  it.  The  artist  had  taught  her  in  a 
few  words,  more  than  all  she  had  learned  in  her 
way  of  searching,  and  yet  how  did  she  know 
he  had  found  the  light?  He  had  not  said  so. 
Would  she  meet  him  again  ? 

The  sky  and  sea  were  gray,  and  the  waves 
sighed,  as  Rachel  again  walked  along  the  shore. 


140  SHE  OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

She  turned  from  the  sea  and  followed  a  path 
into  the  country,  but  had  not  gone  far  when  she 
met  the  artist,  who  said,  with  a  cynical  look : 

"  My  soul  tells  me  nothing  to-day." 

"Do  you  never  learn  save  what  your  soul 
teaches?"  asked  Rachel. 

"No,  how  could  I?" 

"  From  outward  things." 

"That  would  not  be  wisdom,  and  it  is  that 
alone  we  take  away  with  us  when  we  leave  this 
present  stage  of  existence." 

They  had  been  standing  the  while  not  far 
from  each  other.  He  said:  "Let  us  walk.  I 
am  the  only  man  in  the  world  to  you  at  this 
time.  Give  me  your  best  thoughts.  Have  you 
ever  looked  at  life  in  this  way?  The  people  who 
are  around  me  to-day,  are  the  world  to  me.  If  I 
am  talking  to  a  beggar,  he  is  the  only  man  at 
that  time,  and  I  must  give  him  the  best  that  is 
within  me.  I  am  a  beggar,  give  me  your  highest 
thoughts.  Perhaps  your  soul  can  teach  me 
something." 

They  walked  in  silence,  Rachel  not  knowing 
what  to  say. 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  141 

He  resumed  in  the  same  cynical  tone:  "I 
know  nothing,  yet  I  know  everything.  I  have 
no  head,  yet  have  all  the  head  there  is.  I  am 
poor,  but  have  great  wealth.  Oh,  confusion  of 
paradoxes!  We  attain  Being  thro'  not  being. 
Think  most  when  we  seem  not  to  think.  Live, 
while  we  care  not  whether  we  live.  Have  all 
things  and  yet  have  nothing.  Pray  most  when 
naught  is  asked.  Our  power  greatest  as  we 
care  not,  and  our  love  strongest  when  we  love 
no  one." 

Rachel  smiled  at  the  vehemence  with  which 
he  said  all  this,  then  looking  grave  she  thought : 
"I  see  dimly  there  is  truth  in  what  he  says. 
I^ow  much  I  have  to  learn ! " 

"Yes,  that  is  true,  but  I  don't  want  you  to 
talk  about  it  now.  Did  you  ever  get  inside  of 
anyone,  and  look  out  of  his  eyes,  and  hear 
through  his  ears,  and  breathe  and  talk  through 
his  mouth?" 

"  No,  I  never  had  such  an  extraordinary  expe 
rience,"  replied  Rachel. 

"I  have.  It  isn't  always  pleasant,"  he  said, 
with  a  smile.  "  I  have  also  been  in  a  condition 


142  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

in  which  I  felt  if  there  came  a  storm  and  light- 
ning  played  near  me,  I  should  fly  into  a  million 
atoms,  then  gather  myself  together  again." 

His  face  grew  serious.  Then,  as  if  continu 
ing  the  thought,  he  said:  "I  believe  electricity 
is  the  Passion  of  the  gods." 

He  stood  a  moment  communing  with  himself; 
his  face  gradually  changed. 

"  I  feel  impish  to-day." 

Rachel  did  not  smile  as  he  acted  the  imp  in 
every  look  and  motion,  till  he  was  completely 
transformed. 

"  You  would  not  be  afraid  of  me  if  I  were  the 
devil  instead  of  an  imp,"  he  said,  coming  nearer. 
"  You  see,  I  know  you  well.  You  never  felt  fear 
in  your  life,  did  you? " 

"  No,"  replied  Rachel. 

"That  is  the  reason  you  are  great,"  he  said. 
"  If,  added  to  some  of  your  weaknesses  you  had 
fear,  you  would  be  a  very  small  woman,  but  not 
fearing,  you  are  great.  Fear  is  the  greatest 
destroyer  in  this  world;  it  causes  more  sorrow 
and  sin  than  anything  else  in  the  whole  cata 
logue." 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  143 

He  was  silent  a  long  time,  then  said :  "  Yes, 
it  is  good  for  me  to  walk  by  the  side  of  a  pure, 
white  soul  like  yours.  You  are  good,  but  you 
don't  do  anything*! " 

Rachel  grew  pale. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  try  Spiritualism  ?  "  he 
said. 

"  How  should  you  know  ?  "  she  asked 

"Again,  asking  me  the  same  old  question. 
Sometime  you  will  know.  If  I  were  to  tell  you 
now,  you  would  not  understand." 

This  remark  did  not  disturb  Rachel,  she  was 
not  vain. 

She  answered:  "You  seem  to  know  of  many 
things.  Do  you  understand  Spiritualism  ?  " 

uYes,"  he  replied,  "but  I  am  not  in  the 
mood  to  discuss  anything  to-day.  Spiritualism, 
in  its  common  acceptation,  is  dangerous — except 
to  the  adept,  and  he  does  not  need  it;  he  has 
Spiritualism  in  its  true  sense.  I  do  not  believe  in 
materializing  spirit,  but  in  spiritualizing  matter. 
Yes,  I  know  what  you  would  say — there  are 
many  arguments  brought  up,  but  know  this  one 
truth,  my  friend,  that  all  true  development  must 


144  SHE  OK  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

come  from  within.  While  you  are  attaining 
this,  you  help  every  other  soul.  You  make  it 
possible  for  all  to  do  the  same.  If  there  be 
anyone  in  the  world  you  would  like  to  help,  send 
that  one  thoughts  from  the  soul." 

"  How  can  I  send  thoughts  from  the  soul  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  You  will  learn  some  day.  Your  white  soul 
is  near  the  highest  truths,  and  your  mental 
nature  will  grow  wonderfully  through  this 
spiritual  awakening,  and  you  will  live  up  to  your 
growth." 

"  You  have  received  light  from  many  sources, 
yet  you  are  discordant  to-day,"  said  Rachel. 

"  That's  right.  I  have  been  catching  '  faint 
glimmerings' — very  faint,"  he  smiled,  "since 
the  first  day  I  saw  the  light  from  my  mother's 
arms.  A  young  chap,  you  see,  and  have  been 
moving  on  ever  since,  falling  back  at  times 
further  than  I  had  progressed,  vowing  never  to 
start  again.  And  yet,  there  is  not  a  religion 
that  I  have  not  tried  to  fathom." 

"  You  have,  then,  studied  the  Eastern  relig 
ions,"  Rachel  said. 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY   LIGHT.  145 

"  Went  to  India  for  that  purpose,"  he  replied. 

"Do  you  understand  Theosophy?  Did  it 
bring  you  peace  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Do  I  look  peaceful  to-day?  This  is  a  very 
mild  exhibition  of  myself,  yet  not  myself. 
I  don't  know  who  it  is." 

"  Someone,  perhaps,  has  gotten  inside  of  you," 
said  Rachel,  with  a  smile,  "  and  is  looking  out 
of  your  eyes.  You  look  very  unlike  you  did 
when  I  first  saw  you.  But  you  have  not  told 
me  of  Theosophy.  I  long  to  know,"  she  said, 
with  earnestness. 

"Theosophy?  It  has  deep  truths  in  it,"  the 
artist  replied.  "But  truths  of  any  religion,  if 
lived  up  to,  would  bring  peace.  Mark  you,  I  did 
not  say  Theosophy  was  a  religion.  It  is  my 
opinion  that  the  spiritual  effort  underlying  all 
religions,  is  the  same.  The  false  interpretations 
of  them  bring  disturbance  to  the  mind.  I  am 
as  universal  in  my  feelings  as  I  am  in  my 
beliefs.  I  believe  in  everything,  but  not  all  of 
everything.  I  do  not  wish  to  attain  peace  in  a 
way  that  is  incomprehensible  to  the  meanest 
man  that  walks  the  earth.  Christ  died  for  all,  if 


146  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

He  died  for  anybody.  You  see,  I  am  in  a  doubt 
ful  state  to-day.  I  am  now  studying  that  which 
I  believe  will  give  the  true  interpretation  of  the 
Soul,  but  all  its  language  has  not  been  trans 
lated.  The  fountain  is  for  everyone  who  is 
thirsty." 

Saying  this,  he  caught  a  limb  that  was  droop 
ing  on  the  side  of  the  road,  and  as  he  swung  to 
and  fro,  smilingly  said,  "Have  a  swing?" 

Rachel  smiled,  and,  turning,  walked  away. 
But  when  she  had  reached  Uncle  Jonah's  home, 
her  mind  was  still  occupied  with  the  truths  the 
artist  suggested. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FIFTH. 


'"Cbou,  o  Gofc,  Mt>8t  prepare  of  tbs  goolmeas  for 
tbe  poor.    "Cbe  Xort>  gtvetb  tbe  worJ>." 

psalm  48.  to. 


THE  gates  of  Hyde  Park  swung  open  that 
beantiful  morning,  inviting  tired  people  to  rest 
beneath  its  grand  trees,  to  walk  by  the  Serpen 
tine  till  they  believed  themselves  far  away  in  the 
country. 

The  great  metropolis — the  centre  of  the  world, 
is  always  young  and  always  old,  always  gay  and 
always  grave,  having  a  completeness  that  meets 
every  mood  of  man. 

Jakusa,  having  just  witnessed  a  street  fight, 
was  moving  idly  along  with  the  crowd.  She 
was  thinking  of  Aunt  Dinah  and  Wanda,  and 


148  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

wondering  where  they  were,  and  if  Aunt  Dinah 
had  any  listeners  to  her  ghost  stories. 

"  Little  maiden," 

Jakusa  looked  up,  and  gave  a  scream  of  delight. 


said,  dancing  around  Garangula.  "You've 
saved  my  life.  I  know  I  should  have  been  a 
corpse  soon." 

"  Garangula  is  happy,"  he  said,  child-like, 
believing  the  truth  of  Jakusa's  statement. 

"When  did  you  come  here?"  asked  Jakusa. 

"Yesterday,  when  the  great  sun  was  high." 

"Where  did  you  go? "  she  asked.  "Why  did 
you  not  find  us  ?  " 

"  Garangula  went  where  he  heard  great  sounds. 
He  could  not  understand,  but  he  listened.  Such 
glory  burst  forth  that  Garangula  dared  not 

move He  saw  cattle  on  the  hills.  The  sun 

was  going  down ....  A  prairie  caught  fire  ....  he 
heard  the  scream  of  the  panthers.  He  saw  the 
Happy  Hunting-Grounds  of  his  fathers ....  The 
Great  Spirit  was  there ....  Garangula  heard  his 
mother's  voice — it  is  echoing  still." 

His   voice   rose   and   fell   in   slow,   measured 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  149 

accents,  with  a  music  akin  to  the  winds  and  seas. 

He  seemed  related  to  all yet  stood  alone  in 

his  native  grandeur.  His  head  was  thrown 
back ....  he  was  listening  to  the  echoes. 

"  Oh!  it  must  have  been  that  great  man  play 
ing  at  St.  James'  Hall,"  cried  Jakusa.  "  I  fol 
lowed  the  crowd  in  there  the  other  day  to  see 
what  was  going  on.  I  heard  devils  and  angels' 
and  saw  all  the  poor  people  with  good  dinners 
and  every  body  happy — that's  music.  When  did 
you  leave  the  hills  where  we  stayed?  Tell  me 
about  it,  and  let  us  sit  under  this  tree." 

"Garangula  left  the  hills  soon  after  the 
maiden  went  away." 

"And  did  the  English  lord  go  with  you?" 

"Garangula  went  alone." 

It  was  not  easy  to  ask  questions  of  Garangula. 
Jakusa  wished  he  would  be  more  communicative 
that  she  might  be  less  rude — vain  wish.  After 
a  few  moments'  silence  she  asked:  "What  made 
you  go  away?" 

"Garangula  wished  to  see  the  pale-face." 

"What  pale-face  can  he  mean,"  thought 
Jakusa,  "Rachel  or  Zulona?" 


150  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

"Oh,  the  'beautiful  pale-face',"  she  said,  diplo 
matically. 

"The  Star-By ed-One,"  answered   Garangula. 

Awhile  Jakusa  sat  in  deep  thought,  then  said 
timidly:  "I  dreamed  of  you  last  night." 

"Didst  thou?  Dreams  are  strange  things. 
Garangula  believes  in  them." 

Jakusa  was  discouraged. 

"Yes,  I  did — it  was  a  curious  dream!" 

No  answer. 

"  Should  you  like  to  know  what  I  dreamed?  " 

"If  the  little  maiden  wish  to  tell  Garangula." 

"Why,  I  dreamed — I  dreamed  I  met  you  some 
where,  and  you  told  me  why  you  went  to  see  the 
star-eyed  lady,  and  how — and  all  about  it — " 
She  suddenly  stopped.  There  was  something 
about  Garangula  that  made  it  impossible  for  her 
to  continue. 

"  Garangula  wonders  that  he  told  all  this  in  a 
dream  to  the  little  maiden.  He  does  not  know 
himself.  He  knows  why  he  went — he  wished 
to  see  the  pale-face,"  he  said,  in  the  simplest 
manner. 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  151 

This  was  little  comfort  to  Jakusa.  After  a 
while  slie  looked  up  at  him.  "  But " 

"  The  maiden  was  going  to  ask  how  Garangula 
knew  to  find  the  beautiful  pale-face?  " 

Jakusa  hung  her  head  and  put  her  hands  on 
her  lips. 

"Garangula  does  not  know  more  than  he 
knows  how  he  went  where  the  sounds  were. 
The  day  Garangula  sat  alone  in  the  wigwam  he 
said  he  would  find  the  pale-face.  He  went 
toward  the  rising  sun  without  knowing  why. 
When  he  reached  a  great  village,  he  knew  he 
must  cross  the  big  waters.  Then  the  Indian 
went  over  plains  and  hills  and  through  forests, 
on  and  on  till  he  came  to  a  great  dwelling-place." 

Jakusa  showed  no  surprise;  she  was  accus 
tomed  to  mystery;  still  there  was  an  interest 
about  this  she  could  not  explain;  but  Jakusa 
never  exercised  her  brain  long  at  a  time  over 
anything.  Soon  she  arose,  and  said :  "  Let  us  go 
and  look  at  the  riding."  That  would  please  him 
more  than  anything  else,  she  thought.  Gar 
angula  was  dressed  according  to  her  most  ap 
proved  idea  of  an  Indian.  He  had  feathers  of 


152  SHE  OF  THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

varied  Hues  strung  together,  that  hung  down  to 
his  waist,  and  he  wore  many  strings  of  beads 
about  his  neck  and  arms.  Instead  of  the  soft 
laced  Indian  shoe,  he  had  on  the  moccasin,  and 
walked  with  that  gliding  motion  belonging  to 
his  mother.  The  buffalo  robe  added  to  the 
dignity  and  majesty  of  his  bearing. 

On  their  way  to  Rotten  Row,  they  stopped  at 
the  Albert  Memorial.  As  they  walked  away,  he 
said:  "Garangula  does  not  understand." 

While  watching  the  carriages  and  riders  dash 
by,  he  said  thoughtfully:  "Garangula  wonders 
why  they  are  all  dressed  in  black." 

"  Oh,"  and  Jakusa  hesitated  a  moment,  "  Oh, 
I  think  they  are  in  mourning  for  some  Prince,  I 
don't  quite  remember  which  one,  but  I  think 
that  is  it." 

"  Why  do  they  mourn  for  the  Prince  ?  "  asked 
Garangula. 

"  Because  he  is  dead,"  replied  Jakusa. 

"  Why  do  they  mourn  for  him  because  he  is 
dead?" 

"  Oh,  Garangula,  I  don't  know.  I  guess  it's 
a  custom  to  mourn  for  Princes." 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  153 

Garangula  still  wondered  why  they  should 
mourn  for  the  dead  Prince.  Had  he  not  gone 
to  the  white  man's  Hunting-Grounds  ?  After  a 
while,  he  spoke  his  thoughts:  "Perhaps  they 
are  not  in  pain,  only  grieving  for  the  dead 
Prince." 

"  What  can  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Jakusa. 

u  Garangula  was  thinking  from  the  way  they 
all  bend  over,  they  might  be  in  pain,"  he  said, 
with  such  a  quiet  look  on  his  face,  that  Jakusa 
broke  into  peals  of  laughter.  She  then  took 
him  by  the  hand  and  said:  "  Do  let  us  get  away; 
if  this  is  the  way  you  are  going  to  '  do  London', 
I'm  sure  you'll  be  the  death  of  me." 

Garangula  could  not  comprehend  what  she 
meant.  He  was  perfectly  serious  in  what  he 
had  said,  and  when  Jakusa  continued  to  laugh, 
he  thought  it  a  little  strange.  But  he  had  in 
him  the  basis  of  good  breeding,  that  of  being 
undisturbed  under  all  circumstances.  In  truth, 
he  never  seemed  to  think  about  himself;  nor  did 
he  ever  laugh;  he  smiled,  and  then  his  face 
was  wonderful  in  expression.  All  life  to 
him  was  serious,  yet  he  never  grieved,  not 


154  SHE  OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

even  when  his  mother  went  on  "that  long 
journey".  The  only  restlessness  he  had  ever 
manifested,  was  when  he  went  to  Tehuacana 
Hills  and  fonnd  the  wigwams  empty.  He  did 
not  try  to  analyze  that  feeling — indeed  he  could 
not  have  done  so.  He  was  so  nearly  a  normal 
character  that  it  was  difficult  to  believe  he 
belonged  to  this  age;  and  it  was  strange  to  see 
him  in  London,  looking  as  unconscious  as  if  he 
were  carrying  a  bow  and  arrow  on  the  plains. 

Jakusa  enjoyed  to  her  heart's  content,  the 
sensation  he  created  in  Hyde  Park  that  morning, 
but  he  did  not  know  any  one  looked  at  him. 
He  bore  himself  so  royally  and  unconsciously 
that  even  the  street  boys  did  not  jeer  at  his 
dress,  but  looked  on  in  admiration. 

As  they  were  leaving  the  Park,  Jakusa  became 
very  much  excited;  she  saw  a  mounted  police 
man  coming,  followed  by  soldiers. 

"Oh,  Garangula,  I  do  believe  the  Queen  is 
coming!  Isn't  this  grand?" 

The  guard  dashed  on,  the  royal  equipage  came 
in  sight. 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY  LIGHT.  155 

"That's  the  Queen — the  one  on  this  side!" 
exclaimed  Jakusa. 

Garangula  looked  at  the  Queen  very  earnestly, 
talking  softly  in  the  Indian  language. 

The  pageant  passed  on.  Jakusa  and  Garan 
gula  went  their  way  through  the  gates.  On 
either  side  was  sitting  a  woman  asking  alms. 
The  Indian  looked  at  them  and  asked  who  they 
were. 

"They  are  beggars,"  answered  Jakusa,  and 
explained  to  him.  how  they  lived. 

"This  day,"  he  said,  "This  day  is  the  first 
Garangula,  the  Indian,  has  seen  a  Queen  and 
a — beggar." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SIXTH. 


"  Jnasmucb  as  se  bax>e  tone  it  unto  tbc  least  ot 
tbese,  ?c  bave  bone  it  unto  me." 

flDattbcw  25,  Verse  31. 


As  they  walked  on,  Jakusa  told  him  where 
the  poor  lived ;  saying  that  she  went  down  the 
narrow  back  streets,  and  stayed  with  the  children, 
and  helped  them  in  any  way  she  could. 

"  It  is  rough  in  many  places,  but  I  don't  mind 
that;  in  fact,  I  rather  enjoy  it.  I  feel  as  if  I 
belonged  to  them  in  some  way ;  I  don't  think  I 
could  have  lived  here,  if  I  had  not  found  so 
many  poor  children.  This  place  looks  always 
the  same.  I  guess  it  has  been  that  way  ever 
since  it  was  built  up  after  the  flood.  Don't  you 
think  so,  Garangula?" 

"  Garangula  never  heard  of  the  flood.    He  has 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  157 

been  thinking  of  the  beggars,  and  wishes  the 
little  maiden  would  let  him  go  with  her." 

Jakusa  hesitated  a  moment ;  she  was  afraid  to 
take  him  in  that  dress.  Her  generosity,  how. 
ever,  overcame  her  fear,  and  she  said:  "Yes, 
Garangula,  go.  I  know  you  will  help  me." 

They  did  not  walk  as  far  from  Hyde  Park 
Corner,  as  one  would  think.  It  did  not  take  long 
to  get  to  the  dingy,  narrow  streets  back  of  West 
minster — to  the  barren,  desolate  homes  where 
"poverty  is  the  house-holder".  Not  much  time 
from  the  gay  round  of  pleasure  would  be  required 
to  reach  them.  And  to  those  who  do,  the  mem 
ory  will  rise  in  the  woods,  on  the  sea-shore,  and 
turn  every  ray  of  glad  sunshine  into  blackness ; 
every  song  of  the  birds  into  the  wail  of  a  starv 
ing  child;  change  the  moan  of  the  sea  over 
which  they  sigh  sentimentally,  into  the  bitter 
cries  of  famished  men  and  women. 

There  are  scenes  in  London  that  would  make 
a  Fiji  Islander  blush  with  shame  and  burn  with 
indignation.  There  are  chambers  of  living  hor 
rors,  compared  with  which,  the  crimes  of  centuries 
gone  by  are  pardonable  faults  of  barbaric  ages. 


158  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

It  is  wonderful  that  in  the  midst  of  such  wretch 
edness  a  city  can  sleep.  It  is  strange  its  dreams 
are  not  peopled  with  images  of  gaunt,  starving 
faces  glaring  out  amid  the  darkness. 

When  returning  late  in  the  afternoon,  Garan- 
gula's  face  had  a  confused  look.  At  length,  he 
said:  "Little  maiden,  do  the  beggars  belong  to 
the  same  tribe  as  the  others  ?  " 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply  he  continued: 
"  Garangula,  the  Indian,  wonders  much  at  what 
he  saw.  He  feels  sorry,  and  believes  as  his 
mother  taught  him,  that  it  is  because  the  pale 
faces  read  books." 

They  came  face  to  face  with  the  woman  whom 
Jakusa  called  "the  good  angel"  and  Garangula 
named:  "She  of  the  Holy  Light." 

She  said:  "The  Great  Spirit  has  led  thee,  and 
will  abide  with  Garangula! " 

The  Indian  answered :  "  O  Woman  of  the  Holy 
Light !  Thou  dost  make  the  way  bright  to  Garan 
gula.  He  will  now  meet  the  English  lord! " 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SEVENTH. 


"©  tbou  invisible  spirit  of  wine!  if  tbou  bast  no 
name  to  be  Known  bv,  let  us  call  tbee  oevil." 

Sbahcspcarc. 


THE  autumn  in  London  had  been  delightful. 
The  winter  opened  with  its  usual  accompani 
ment — the  fog;  the  sun,  struggling  feebly, 
threw  a  yellowish  light  over  all. 

Garangula  and  Jakusa  spent  many  hours 
together  seeing  London,  albeit  the  latter  began 
to  feel  that  the  instruction  Garangula  required, 
taxed  her  rather  heavily,  he  knew  so  much  and 
yet  so  little.  The  simple  things  that  she 
had  always  known,  must  be  explained  to  him. 
He  would  stand  for  hours  in  front  of  shop 
windows,  taking  note  of  everything.  Above 
all,  he  liked  to  linger  near  the  Japanese  and 


l6o  SHE  OF   THE   HOLY  LIGHT. 

Indian  shops.  One  day  on  Oxford  Street,  Jakusa 
asked  with,  an  amused  look:  "Do  you  know 
what  kind  of  a  store  this  is  ?  " 

"  No,  Garangula  never  looks  at  names.  Why 
should  he  ?  When  Garangula  is  alone  he  goes 
wherever  he  wishes  without  any  care  or  thought, 
and  he  sees  much  beauty." 

"  Do  you  never  inquire  for  places  when  you 
are  out  alone?"  asked  Jakusa,  who  was  more 
interested  in  this  than  beauty. 

"Garangula  would  feel  strange  to  ask.  He 
would  think  the  Great  Spirit  was  not  with  him." 

"  Do  you  believe  the  Great  Spirit  directs  you, 
everywhere  you  go,  and  in  everything  you  do?" 

"  Garangula  believes  that.  Every  day  he 
says :  '  O  Great  Spirit,  speak  to  Garangula '." 

"Are  your  prayers  no  longer  than  that?" 
asked  Jakusa. 

"  Garangula  knows  not  what  else  to  say.  That 
was  all  his  mother  taught  him,"  he  replied. 

The  morning  had  been  trying  to  Jakusa,  she 
could  not  tell  why — she  was  cross  without  any 
special  reason.  When  the  Indian  said:  "Little 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  l6l 

maiden,  Garangula  spells  the  name  'Co'  and 
*  bank',  then  1-i-m-i-t-e-d — what  does  that  mean  ?  " 

Jakusa  answered  impatiently:  "Oh,  I  don't 
know;  everything  in  this  country  is  limited 
except  poverty  and  babies." 

Garangnla,  not  noticing  her  impatience,  con 
tinued  his  questions. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  that  man  ?  "  he 
asked,  looking  at  one  staggering  on  the  side 
walk. 

"  He  is  on  a  bender,  I  guess,"  replied  Jakusa, 
her  momentary  impatience  forgotten. 

"  What  does  the  little  maiden  mean  by  '  being 
on  a  bender '  ?  " 

"Well  then,  in  polite  speech,  he  is  intoxi 
cated—  *  drunk'. " 

"What  is 'drunk'?" 

"Can't  you  see,  Garangula,  what  being 
'drunk'  is?" 

"  What  made  him  that  way  ?  " 

"  Drinking  whisky,  or  beer,  or  ale,  or  wine,  or 
something  of  the  kind." 

"  What  is  that,  little  maiden  ?  " 

"  *  Damned  fermentation',  I  heard  a  man  call 


1 62  SHE  OF  THE   HOLY  LIGHT. 

it  one  day,"  replied  Jakusa.  "  That's  as  good  a 
name  as  any,  I  reckon." 

"  Garangula  remembers  his  mother  telling  him 
about  the  white  man  giving  her  people  fire-water. 
And  this  is  what  it  was.  Little  maiden,  why  does 
the  white  man  drink  fire-water  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Lord,  I  don't  know,"  answered  Jakusa, 
very  cross.  "  Please  don't  ask  me  any  more 
questions  to-day,  Garangula." 

Garangula  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  Will  the  little  maiden  let  Garangula  ask  one 
more  question  ?  "  he  said,  in  that  musical  voice 
of  his,  no  one  could  resist. 

Jakusa  looked  at  him  and  smiled.     "  Yes,  just 


'one  more'." 


"Does  the  white  man  enjoy  *  being  drunk '?  " 

Jakusa  laughed. 

"See,  Garangula,"  her  tone  changing;  "it  is 
growing  dark;  I  noticed  when  we  started  out 
the  sun  looked  '  queer ',  that  is  what  they  say 
here  when  they  are  ill,  and  the  sun  looked 
sickly  thi$  morning — I  guess  that  is  the  proper 
word  to  use.  I  suppose  he  has  grown  worse  and 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  163 

retired;  leastwise  he  hid  himself  from  view  long 
ago,  and  it  grows  darker. 

"  Oh,  Garangula,  I  do  believe  there  is  going  to 
be  one  of  those  black  fogs  in  which  folks  get 
lost  and  never  find  their  way." 

"  How  could  one  get  lost  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  very  easy  for  me,  so  I  am  not 
going  to  risk  it,"  said  Jakusa  excitedly,  and 
motioning  violently  to  a  cabman,  left  Garangula, 
who  could  not  be  persuaded  to  go  with  her. 

Through  the  black  fog,  mid  all  the  confusion 
....  then  the  silence — the  Indian  walked  on 
quietly,  his  figure  dimly  outlined  by  the  faint 
yellow  light  of  the  lamps. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-EIGHTH. 


'"Cbc  sorrows  of  bell  compassct>  me  about. 
Samuel,  22.    0. 


IT  was  more  than  a  week  before  Rachel  saw 
the  artist.  The  old  spirit  of  unrest  was  upon 
her.  She  walked  toward  the  sea — the  clouds 
hung  low,  the  waves  sighed  as  they  beat  the 
cliffs ;  the  whole  world  moaned. 

As  she  neared  the  cliff,  she  heard — "To-mor 
row  and  to-morrow"  in  the  same  voice  and  yet 
its  tone  so  changed,  she  scarcely  recognized  it; 
she  stopped  undecided  whether  to  go  further — 
the  voice  repelled  her. 

"  I  am  your  brother,"  he  said;  "  speak  to  me." 

She  went  forward,  but  could  not  see  him; 
going  behind  the  cliff  she  found  him  crouched 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  165 

underneath  the  ledge — a  torn  canvas  on  an  easel, 
was  lying  in  front  of  him.  His  large  eyes  that 
had  looked  at  her  so  kindly,  were  now  protruding 
from  a  face  that  looked  like  distorted  humanity. 
His  attitude  was  like  a  prisoner  in  his  cell ;  he 
seemed  an  old  man. 

"  The  first  day  you  saw  me,"  his  voice  not 
changing  its  gutteral  tone,  "  I  loved  all  things, 
believed  and  had  faith  in  all,  but  now 

"  Yesterday,"  and  his  voice  changed  to  won 
derful  sweetness,  "  ah  I  yesterday  was  beautiful. 
I  was  helping  an  old  farmer  make  hay.  I  had 
heavenly  thoughts.  I  worked  until  I  was  very 
tired,  and  quiet  and  peaceful.  As  I  drew  the 
scythe  through  the  grass,  the  blade  glistened  in 
the  sun,  and  in  the  sunbeams  above,  a  Madonna 
floated — a  Madonna  the  angels  hover  around. 
Could  I  paint  such  a  one,  all  men  would  look 
upon  it  and  realize  motherhood  as  ne'er  before. 
And,"  his  tone  musical  as  a  song,  "  and  with 
that  Madonna  your  image  was  blended — it  was 
your  face,  your  eyes,  and  the  whole  was  divine. 
I  looked  up  each  time  I  swung  the  blade  through 


1 66  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

the  grass.  1  could  have  worshipped  you  yester 
day.  To-day  I  loathe  the  very  sight  of  you. 

"  I  loathe  everybody  in  the  universe — every 
thing  and  everyone,  and  of  all  things,  myself 
the  most.  I  am  concentrated  with  a  double 
compound  of  nausea." 

Rachel  smiled  in  spite  of  herself. 

"There  is  nothing  in  all  the  world  but  sel 
fishness,"  his  voice  now  sounding  like  the  growl 
of  a  dog.  "The  word  stares  at  me  wherever  I 
turn.  The  landscape  that  was  holy  to  me  yes 
terday,  is  desecrated  to-day. 

"  Selfishness,  selfishness.  It  is  selfish  to  love 
or  to  hate;  selfish  to  joy  and  to  sorrow;  to  have 
friends  or  to  have  enemies ;  to  work  or  to  be  idle. 
And  aspiration,  bah !  it  is  robed  in  a  damnable 
cloak  of  selfishness.  The  very  name  turns  me 
sick.  The  body  is  selfish,  and  I  fail  to  see  why 
the  soul  is  not — it  is.  I  am  so  filled  with  loath 
ing  and  hate,  my  whole  being  is  reeking  in  it.  I 
hate  vice ;  I  hate  virtue.  I  hate  death,  and  life 
more  than  death,  if  there  be  any  degrees  in 
hate,  and  I  suppose  there  are  degrees  in  every 
thing,  and  yet  the  whole  world  and  all  things  in 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  167 

it,  are  reduced  to  one  common  level  to  me  to-day. 
I  hate  light,  and  darkness,  and  sea,  sky  and 
earth — all  things  are  coated  over — ugh !  there  is 
nothing — and  yet,  oh  God,  I  wish  there  were 
nothing — it  would  be  better  than  this ! 

"  No,  do  not  try  to  comfort  me.  '  Miserable 
comforters  are  ye  all'." 

Rachel  smiled,  drew  her  cloak  about  her  and   . 
sat  down  near  him. 

He  looked  at  her  from  under  his  eyebrows. 
Though  ungrateful,  it  relieved  him  to  pour  out 
his  feelings. 

"  Oh,  God !  I  cannot  tell  you  the  unrelieved 
confusion  I  have  been  in  since  last  evening." 

Rachel,  who  was  naturally  sensitive  to  tones 
of  the  voice,  gave  an  expression  indicative  of  her 
nerves  being  put  to  severe  test. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  know  this  grates  on  your 
soul  in  every  way,  and  I  don't  care.  You  are 
disgusted,  but  I  am  sodden  in  disgust  and 
despair.  I  am  clothed  in  fears  and  sullen 
dejections  of  heart  and  striving.  There  will  be 
nothing  left  of  me  but  a  nervous  skeleton  with 


1 68  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

sandwich  chest  and  weak  knees,  and  a  counte 
nance  of  idiotic  apathy." 

With  that  he  laughed  sardonically,  and 
crouched  lower  behind  the  rock,  his  head  bowed 
on  his  knees. 

Rachel  turned  from  him. 

"Listen!"  he  continued,  "the  waves  cry  out. 
And  my  heart  wails  in  unison — unclean  beasts 
are  in  the  holy  temple !  Oh,  it  is  so  cold  !  I 
weep  salt-brine  tears.  I  have  shrieked  with 
agony  of  desolation.  Yes,  there  is  eternal  hell 
as  well  as  eternal  heaven,  and  'hell  and 
destruction  are  never  full '.  Now  is  eternity,  and 
we  can  plunge  without  limit,  deeper,  deeper  into 
the  night  of  Nothing.  I  feel  that  God's  face  is 
to  be  hidden  from  me.  Oh,  this  terrible  isola 
tion  !  I  have  not  had  peace  for  so  long,  so  long. 
The  temporary  calms  have  been  merely  stupors, 
unintelligent  pauses,  to  awake  again  to  frights, 
panics  alternated  by  devilish  furies  and  blas- 
phemings.  Rachel,  I  shall  be  cursing  you 
presently.  Shriekings,  moans,  and  blasphemies 
dry  on  my  tongue,  making  it  foul,  and  my 
bones  to  ache,  and  my  teeth  rotten.  The 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  169 

material  asserts  its  hideous  supremacy.  OH, 
that  I  could  be  given  to  Myself!  I  am  loosed 
from  my  anchorage  and  get  tossed  in  miasma 
and  whirlpools  of  all  surrounding  mortal 
thoughts !  The  story  of  error  is  unfathomable !  " 

Rachel  arose  and  passed  from  their  retreat. 

She  walked  on  through  the  wind  and  rain; 
as  she  reached  the  door  of  her  home,  she  was 
repeating  his  words  in  a  bewildered  way. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-NINTH. 


,  to  not  tbtnft  3  (latter ; 
jfor  vrbat  advancement  mat  5  bope  from  tbec, 
Ubat  no  reverence  bast  but  tbg  good  spirits 
Uo  feet  ant  clotbe  tbee  ? 

*        *        * 
"  Oive  me  tbat  man 

Ubat  is  not  passion's  slave,  ant  5  will  wear  bim 
3n  mv  heart's  core, lax;,  in  mv  beart  of  hearts, 
a»  3  to  tbee." 

Sbakespeare. 


IT  was  the  Golden  Carnival.  The  aristocrats 
of  British  society  were  gathered  together.  Noble 
women  presided  over  the  brilliant  scene,  and 
served  in  the  decorated  booths,  containing 
articles  of  rare  workmanship,  vases,  flowers,  and 
a  thousand  beautiful  things  to  be  sold  for  the 
benefit  of  the  poor. 

In  one  of  the  booths,  crowded  with  duchesses 
and  princesses,  stood  a  form  straight  as  an 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  171 

arrow,  a  crown  of  eagle  feathers  on  his  head. 
A  tall  young  Englishman,  who  had  just  entered, 
sprang  forward  and  cried:  "Garangula!  By 
Jove!  I'm  glad."  And  he  shook  Garangula's 
hand  again  and  again,  with  the  cordial  grasp  of 
a  true  Englishman.  Garangula's  face  had  a 
look  of  contentment  and  joy. 

Close  by  a  booth,  more  exclusive  than  the 
others,  stood  a  man  watching  Garangula.  A 
dark  frown  gathered  on  his  brow,  and  a  deep 
curse  escaped  his  lips. 

"  I  will  bide  my  time,"  he  said.  "  He  shall 
come  to  me.  He  shall  come  to  me."  He  put 
his  hand  on  his  brow  and  staggered  backwards, 
as  he  cried  out:  "  Oh,  handsome  Garangula !" 
Then  turning  away,  Mazaro  spoke  in  the  low, 
determined  voice:  "I  will  have  the  power  to 
draw  and  hold  him.  I  know  how  it  can  be 
attained,  and  it  shall  be  mine.  I  will  send  my 
spirit  to  the  very  abode  of  the  Evil  One,  rather 
than  be  thwarted  in  this.  Come,"  he  whispered, 
as  if  speaking  to  unseen  hosts,  "  surround  me 
— take  me,  body  and  soul — I  care  not,  so  you 
endow  me  with  power.  In  the  name  of  all  the 


172  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

gods  of  light  and  of  darkness,  I  demand  it! 
Give  me  knowledge  that  I  may  have  power. 

Come,  power "  He  sank  on  a  -seat  exhausted, 

and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

From  that  night  at  the  Golden  Carnival,  the 
world  knew  bnt  little  of  Mazaro.  He  went  back 
to  the  Strange  Palace,  and  spent  his  days  in 
seclusion. 

"Of  all  the  places  in  London  to  find  you," 
continued  Lord  Carleton.  "But  then  you  have 
always  been  surprising  me  in  some  way." 

"  Garangula  trusts  the  surprises  have  been 
happy  to  the  English  lord." 

"  Not  always,  Garangula.  You  see  you  have 
taught  me  to  be  sincere.  I  have  shocked  my 
sisters  till  they  had  to  use  their  smelling  salts. 
They  declare  I  have  become  a  perfect  barbarian, 
and  it  is  all  your  fault,  Garangula." 

"  Garangula  does  not  know  what  the  English 
lord  means." 

"  I  am  too  delighted  at  finding  you  again  to 
tell  you.  I  arrived  yesterday,  and  early  this 
morning  began  searching  for  you,  hoping  with- 


SHE  OP  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  173 

out  any  reason,  that  you  might  be  here.  Why 
did  you  not  write  to  me?  " 

"  Because  Garangula  could  not  say  what  he 
wished  in  writing." 

L,ord  Carleton  looked  at  him  again,  and  said : 
"  You  are  the  same,  only  a  trifle  more  serious 
than  in  the  old  ranch  days.  Ah,  they  were  good 
old  days,  Garangula.  Tell  me  about  yourself — 
have  you  seen  the  pale-face  ?  " 

"  The  Indian  found  the  pale-face." 

"  Where  did  you  find  her  ?  " 

"  Garangula  does  not  know.     It  is  far  away." 

A  tone  in  Garangula's  voice,  made  Lord  Carle- 
ton  change  the  subject.  "  This  Carnival,"  he 
said,  "  is  the  most  talked  of  thing  going  now, 
every  paper  has  something  about  it." 

"  Garangula  does  not  read  papers." 

"No,  of  course  not,"  said  Lord  Carleton. 
"  Well,  then,  come  on,  and  let  me  enlighten  you 
a  little ;  you  see  I  am  delighted  to  resume  our 
old  relationship." 

"  Garangula  is  no  less  so  than  the  English 
lord." 

"  Spoken  like  the  Indian  of  old,"  rejoined  Lord 


174  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY   LIGHT. 

Carleton,  as  he  linked  Garangula's  arm  in  his. 
"  If  you  say  such  things  to  the  beautiful  pale 
face,  I  should  think  you  would  soon  win  her 
heart,"  he  continued  carelessly. 

Garangula  replied  without  embarrassment: 
"  Garangula  said  to  the  beautiful  pale-face  what 
he  felt." 

Lord  Carleton  was  annoyed  at  his  baffled 
curiosity;  perhaps  he  would  learn  more,  if  he 
talked  on  other  subjects. 

"  Have  you  examined  a  catalogue  to  know 
who  all  these  charming  ladies  are?  " 

"  The  Indian  was  content  to  look  at  them," 
replied  Garangula. 

"What  a  sincere  admirer  of  beauty  you  are. 
Have  you  seen  any  one  here  as  handsome  as  the 
beautiful  pale-face  ?  " 

"Yes;  but  not  so  much  expression." 

"  My  pupil  has  advanced.  I  am  proud  of  you, 
but  I  feel  jealous,"  replied  Lord  Carleton.  "  Has 
any  one  been  reading  to  you?  " 

"The  beautiful  pale-face  has  been  teaching 
Garangula." 

u  What  has  she  been  teaching  you  ?  " 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  175 

"  Garangula  does  not  know." 

Lord  Carleton  laughed  in  spite  of  his  dis 
pleasure. 

"  Does  she  read  to  you  as  I  did  ?  And  from 
what  kind  of  books  ? "  He  was  determined, 
now,  to  learn  all  about  it. 

"  The  beautiful  pale-face  did  not  often  read  to 
Garangula." 

"  What,  then— talk  to  you  ?  " 

"  Sometimes." 

"  What  did  she  talk  about  ?  " 

"  Garangula  did  not  know,  but  he  thought  it 
very  beautiful." 

"  Don't  know  what  she  said!  " 

"No,"  Garangula  answered. 

"  What  good,  then,  was  to  be  attained  through 
her  teaching  ?  " 

"  Garangula  does  not  know." 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  Lord  Carleton 
thought  he  knew  his  friend.  "One  is  never 
sure  of  anything  when  a  woman  is  connected 
with  it,"  he  was  thinking,  when  Garangula  said : 
"And  she  made  motions  sometimes." 


1 76  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

Lord  Carleton  stopped,  looking  at  him  in 
blank  dismay. 

"The  most  beautiful  motions,"  Garangula 
continued. 

"  And  what  did  she  make  beautiful  motions  to 
you  for  ?  "  cried  Lord  Carleton,  quite  irritated 
by  this  time. 

"Garangula  does  not  know." 

"Well,  by  Jove!  But  it  is  no  use  trying,"  he 
said,  as  he  looked  into  Garangula's  face. 

'"  Let  me  tell  you  something  of  these  celebri 
ties.  The  one  in  the  second  booth  from  us, 
is  Duchess  of  Belgravia,  one  of  the  most 
noted  society  ladies  in  England.  Next  to  the 

Duchess,  is  the  Hon.  Miss ,  I  forget  her 

name.  I  have  been  from  London  so  long,  it  will 
take  some  time  to  become  versed  in  society 
affairs.  But  the  lady  is  just  out  this  season, 
and  has  created  a  great  sensation,  I  am  told ; 
and  for  once,  society  is  right — she  is  beautiful." 

"  What  does  the  English  lord  mean  by  '  being 
out'?" 

"  Oh,  this  is  her  first  season  in  society,  don't 
you  know  ?  "  replied  Lord  Carleton. 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  177 

"  Garangula  does  not  know.  But  the  lady  is 
beautiful  like  jewels.  She  obeys  the  Law  of 
Succession." 

"  *  Obeys  the  Law  of  Succession  I '"  cried  Lord 
Carleton  in  astonishment.  "What  can  you 
mean,  Garangula?" 

"Garangula  does  not  know;  he  cannot  ex 
plain  it,  but  he  feels  it,"  replied  the  Indian  in 
nowise  disconcerted. 

Lord  Carleton  smiled,  yet  his  face  was  not 
entirely  free  from  solicitude. 

"  It  makes  her  appear '  well  bred',  the  English 
lord  would  say.  Garangula  thinks  she  looks 
like  a  child  of  the  Great  Spirit — one  who  has 
never  wandered  from  the  Happy  Hunting- 
Grounds." 

"While  the  one  to  her  right  is  vulgar," 
answered  Lord  Carleton.  "  I  begin  to  see  what 
you  mean." 

"  Garangula  would  say  she  had  lost  her  way 
from  the  Happy  Hunting-Grounds." 

"  Look  at  the  last  booth  in  this  room,"  said 
Lord  Carleton.  "There  is  one  of  the  most 
charitable  women  in  all  England.  She  spends 


178  SHK  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

a  large  income  every  year  in  helping  the  poor, 
besides  she  is  wonderfully  clever ;  but  she  is  not 
what  we  call  a  real  lady.  The  one  opposite — 
well,  she  is  not  noted  for  anything,  I  believe, 
but  for  having  bankrupted  two  husbands  with 
her  foolish  extravagance;  but  she  is  a  lady. 
The  one  you  thought  had  lost  her  way  from  the 
Happy  Hunting-Grounds  is  a  countess.  I  won 
der  what  she  would  say  to  that." 

"Garangula  meant  no  rudeness;  he  feels 
sorry." 

Lord  Carleton  burst  out  laughing  at  the 
oddity  of  the  situation.  "  Imagine  a  Texas 
Indian  being  sorry  for  one  of  the  wealthiest  and 
oldest  titled  families  in  England.  This  is  delic 
ious  ! "  and  he  laughed  again. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Garangula. 

"  It  grows  more  delicious,  but  it  is  no  use 
wasting  words  on  you,  Garangula,  for  with  all 
your  learning  from  the  beautiful  pale-face,  there 
are  some  facts  you  cannot  understand." 

"  Garangula  wishes  he  could  understand  what 
the  English  lord  means  by  a  real  lady,"  said 
the  Indian  very  seriously. 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  179 

"  Oh,  Garangula,  much,  as  I  like  you,  I  could 
never  make  you  comprehend  the  situation,  besides 
I  would  rather  you  would  not." 

Lord  Carleton  changed  his  tone  and  said :  "I 
want  you  to  love  my  country." 

"  Garangula  does  love  the  English  lord's 
country." 

1 '  Thank  you,  Garangula.  There  is  no  country 
under  the  sun  like  old  England,  but  I  am  afraid 
there  are  some  things  in  society  here  that  could 
not  be  viewed  with  your  eyes,  without  your 
expressing  your  sympathy  again." 

"  Garangula  does  not  know  what  the  English 
lord  means.  The  Indian  intended  no  unkind- 
ness,"  he  said,  humbly. 

"  Be  assured  you  can  never  offend  me  as  long 
as  you  remain  Garangula.  This  Carnival," 
Lord  Carleton  continued,  "  is  for  the  benefit  of 
the  poor  children.  The  money  paid  for  these 
beautiful  things  goes  to  help  them." 

"  Then  Garangula  must  buy  something.  He 
wishes  to  get  it  from  the  one  who  is  'just  out '." 

The  Indian  looked  on  the  display,  the  flash 
of  jewels,  the  elegant  costumes,  the  noble  dames, 


l8o  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

heroic  looking  men,  and  said:  "It  seems 
strange " 

Lord  Carleton  smiled,  but  answered  nothing. 
They  had  reached  the  booth.  The  Indian  leaned 
forward  and  said :  "  Would  the  Lady-of-the-Sun- 
beam  allow  Garangula  to  have  that?" — he 
looked  at  a  curious  bit  of  workmanship — 
"  Garangula  does  not  know  what  to  call  it." 

The  lady  looked  confused.  Lord  Carleton 
came  to  the  rescue,  and  said,  as  he  lifted  his  hat, 
"Pray  pardon  my  friend;  he  is  a  savage.  You 
know  only  barbarians  are  permitted  to  speak  the 
truth." 

Her  face  was  a  lovely  crimson  as  she  answered : 
"America  has  not  taught  Lord  Carleton  to  give 
up  compliments.  Have  you  forgotten  Blise 
Pendleton  ?  "  and  she  offered  her  hand  cordially 
as  an  old  friend. 

"Ah,  you  girls  change  so,"  replied  Lord  Carle- 
ton.  "  When  I  remember  how  small  you  were 
five  years  ago,  I  feel  quite  aged." 

They  chatted  pleasantly  for  a  while,  and 
when  other  patrons  came,  Lord  Carleton  said : 
"  We  must  not  intrude  longer." 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  l8l 

"  Come  to  mamma's  *  At  Home '  next  Thurs 
day;  she  will  be  delighted  to  see  you,"  Miss 
Pendleton  said. 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  replied  Lord  Carleton. 
"  May  I  bring  my  friend? "  he  looked  at 
Garangula. 

"  Lord  Carleton  knows  he  has  that  privilege," 
she  answered. 

The  article  was  given  to  Garangula ;  he  looked 
at  the  lady  and  said:  "Thou  hast  the  manner  of 
love." 

Miss  Pendleton  blushed  again.  Lord  Carle- 
ton  laughingly  said:  "Do  be  as  frank  as  you 
were  five  years  ago,  and  say  you  think  he  is  the 
handsomest  man  you  ever  saw." 

She  turned  from  them  under  the  pretense  of 
attending  to  some  one,  and  they  walked  away, 
many  eyes  following  the  high-bred  Englishman 
in  his  fashionable  suit,  and  the  handsome  Indian 
in  picturesque  costume. 


CHAPTER  THIRTIETH. 


"  ©,  but  man,  prouo  man  J 
Brest  in  a  little  brief  autboritv 
flDost  ignorant  of  what  he's  most  assure^ 
•fcfs  glassy  essence— lifee  an  angrig  ape, 
plav;s  sucb  fantastic  trichs  before  buib  heaven, 

He  mafcc  tbe  angels  weep." 

Sbafcespeare. 


GARANGULA  became  Lord  Carleton's  honored 
guest,  and  before  many  weeks  lie  was  the  sensa 
tion  of  London  society.  He  still  called  his  host 
the  "  English  lord,"  and  could  not  be  persuaded 
to  say  anything  else.  He  never  addressed  any 
one  by  name.  Perhaps  it  was  that  which  delighted 
the  ladies;  he  always  distinguished  them  in 
some  complimentary  way,  and  his  vocabulary  in 
this  respect  was  inexhaustible. 

"You  are  cultivating  my  appreciation,"  said 
Lord  Carleton ;  "I  had  no  idea  the  ladies  pos- 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY   LIGHT.  183 

sessed  so  many  charming  qualities.  Every 
woman  in  the  world  could  be  either  picturesque, 
beautiful,  or  interesting,  but  she  is  not." 

"  Garangula  has  never  seen  a  woman  who  was 
not.  All  people  are  interesting  to  Garangula. 
He  looks  in  the  eyes  of  each  one,  and  says : 
'Thou  art  a  child  of  the  Great  Spirit'." 

Lord  Carleton  clasped  Garangula' s  hand,  but 
was  silent.  They  left  the  house  and  taking  a 
cab,  were  soon  on  their  way.  Not,  however, 
before  Lord  Carleton  had  provided  a  lunch  of 
fruits,  nuts,  and  vegetables,  saying,  "  Garangula, 
I  wish  you  would  let  me  order  what  I  know  you 
like.  My  mother  would  be  happy  to  have  me 
do  so." 

"  Garangula  is  grateful  to  the  English  lord 
for  remembering  his  simple  tastes,  but  he  would 
not  have  anything  before  him  that  was  not  par 
taken  by  the  others,"  he  replied,  humbly. 

u  I  could  never  understand,  Garangula,  why 
you  do  not  eat  meat.  Your  mother  must  have 
done  so." 

"  Garangula's  mother  ate  meat  that  was  killed 
on  the  plains  and  in  the  forests,  but  his  father 


1 84  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

did  not.  Garangula  has  known  Him  to  live  on 
bread  and  water  many  weeks.  Garangula  loved 
His  mother,  but  in  many  ways  He  is  like  His 
fatHer." 

Lord  Carleton  took  great  interest  in  accom 
panying  Garangula  tHrougH  London,  not  merely 
because  He  was  His  guest;  He  enjoyed  tHe 
Indian's  opinion,  and  also  wisHed  to  see  tHe 
result  of  His  teaching.  He  would  often  tHink 
what  Garangula  would  Have  said  five  years  ago. 
Occasionally,  tHe  influence  of  tHe  beautiful  pale 
face  appeared,  and  never  failed  to  irritate  Lord 
Carleton — not  that  it  was  without  merit,  but  He 
Hated  the  source. 

Lord  Carleton  did  not  tell  Garangula  the 
names  of  the  places  they  visited.  All  were  of 
interest  to  the  Indian. 

"  I  shall  take  Him,"  said  Lord  Carleton,  "  to 
places  all  the  world  knows.  I  wish  to  see  them 
through  his  eyes.  It  will  be  like  visiting  a  new 
country." 

It  was  still  early  morning  when  they  reached 
Tower  Hill.  THe  sun  was  shining,  throwing  in 
relief  the  gray,  old  building.  THe  White  Tower, 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  185 

surrounded  by  its  four  turrets,  produced  a  vivid 
impression  on  Garangula. 

"  Will  the  English  lord  tell  Garangula,"  he 
said  at  last,  "  something  of  the  interesting  mon 
ument?  It  appears  so  to  the  Indian." 

"  Well  said,"  replied  Lord  Carleton.  "  It  is  a 
memorial  of  eight  centuries  of  inhumanity." 

The  Indian  shivered. 

"I  would  rather  not  explain  to  you,"  said 
Lord  Carleton,  "  lest  you  think  the  white  man 
more  cruel." 

"The  Bnglish  lord  cannot  mean  the  white 
man  has  wronged  his  own  people  ?  *' 

"Yes." 

"Then  Garangula  wonders "  he  did  not 

finish  the  sentence.  "  Once,  after  Garangula' s 
mother  went  on  her  long  journey,  Garangula 
sat  thinking  of  the  wrongs  of  his  people;  he 
said :  l  If  they  were  children  of  the  Great  Spirit, 
how  could  they  have  been  killed '  ?  Something 
whispered :  ( They  were  not  killed ;  they  awoke 
and  found  themselves  in  the  Happy  Hunting- 
Grounds'.  Garangula  arose  comforted.  He 
knows  it  is  well  with  the  red  man." 


1 86  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

"Heaven  "bless  you,  Garangula!  I  believe 
you  will  convert  me  yet.  I  am  sure  they  all 
awoke  in  the  Happy  Hunting-Grounds,  if  they 
were  as  noble  as  you.  I  wonder  if  the  poor 
victims  that  were  beheaded  here,  awoke  and 
found  'they  were  not  killed'.  Here  is  the  very 
spot  where  they  were — not  exactly  scalped,  you 
know,"  said  Lord  Carleton,  smiling,  "but  their 
heads  cut  off  with  an  ax ! " 

"Why?  Did  they  own  homes  someone  else 
wanted  ?  " 

"No,  it  was  on  account  of  their  religious 
principles,  and  other  reasons." 

"What  does  the  English  lord  mean  by 
'  religious  principles '  ?  " 

"  It  is  what  you  would  call  belief  in  the  Great 
Spirit,"  said  Lord  Carleton.  "Ah,  I  wonder," 
he  continued,  growing  thoughtful,  "if  it  were 
such  a  day  as  this !  The  sun  rising  from  the 
misty  clouds,  shining  on  the  Thames,  then 
glancing  on  the  turrets  as  the  bell  tolls,  telling 
the  prisoners,  lives  must  be  sacrificed  to-day. 
They  kneel  in  their  bare,  desolate  dungeons  the 
last  time;  they  are  led  down  the  winding 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  187 

stairs  —  the  priest  goes  before — the  solemn  pro 
cession  is  coming  up  the  Hill,  the  sun  still  shin 
ing  ;  souls  are  to  be  set  free  from  their  earthly 
tenements  to  wend  their  flight — whither?  " 

"  Garangula  cannot  understand  all  the  Bng- 
lish  lord  means.  The  terror  of  the  cruelty 
comes  over  him.  But  they  found  themselves 
with  the  Great  Spirit." 

They  stood  silent  a  moment,  Lord  Carleton 
said:  "I  am  beginning  to  have  a  little  of  your 
faith,  Garangula.  I  am  not  an  irreverent  man ; 
I  have  never  thought  upon  the  serious  side  of 
life,  except  the  ways  of  the  world.  This  day 
will  be  a  memorable  one  to  me.  Let  us  enter 
the  gates. 

"This  was  first  a  palace  for  royalty,"  con 
tinued  Lord  Carleton.  "After  passing  through 
many  gradations,  it  became  a  prison — now,  it  is  a 
curiosity  the  world  visits. 

"We  will  go  to  the  White  Tower,  where 
you  will  see  a  magnificent  collection  of  old 
armor,  most  carefully  arranged — the  trophies 
from  Waterloo,  and  the  instruments  of  torture 
that  are  witnesses  of  our  refined  cruelty.  You 


1 88  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

see  we  did  not  give  our  victims  a  sudden  death 
by  scalping;  we  stood  by  and  watched  their 
agony." 

Looking  at  the  armor,  Garangula  said :  "  What 
was  all  this  for?" 

Lord  Carleton  could  not  answer  at  first;  he 
thought  he  had  grown  accustomed  to  Garan- 
gula's  simple  questions,  but  like  Jakusa,  he  was 
sometimes  at  a  loss  for  words. 

"  For?  Why,  they  used  these  to  protect  them 
selves  in  battle.  It  would  be  difficult  for  a  man 
to  be  hit  behind  that." 

Lord  Carleton  saw  the  scorn  in  Garangula's 
face,  and  was  puzzled.  "  What  is  it,  Garangula  ?  " 
he  hastily  said. 

"  Garangula  cannot  say.  He  is  in  the  Kng- 
lish  lord's  country." 

"  Speak,  my  friend ;  I  promise  not  to  be 
offended." 

"The  English  lord  will  forgive,"  he  answered, 
"but  Garangula  could  not  help  feeling  sorry  for 
the  man  who  would  protect  himself  behind  that," 
and  he  looked  at  the  armor.  "  Garangula  remem 
bers  hearing  his  mother  tell  how  one  of  her 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  189 

ancestors  fought  in  the  midst  of  battle  with  the 
white  man.  When  the  pale-faces  crowded  aronnd 
him,  he  flung  aside  his  buffalo  robe,  bared  his 
breast,  and  cried:  '  Big  Indian  Chief  is  not  afraid. 
He  can  begin  his  long  journey  with  his  face 
toward  the  white  man ! ' — then  gave  one  long 
war-cry  and  fell,  his  face  to  the  foe." 

Garangula  had  unconsciously  expanded  his 
chest,  thrown  back  his  head,  and  his  eyes  flashed 
as  he  said  the  last  words  in  his  mother's  lan 
guage. 

u  I  am  reserving  something  beautiful  for  you," 
said  Lord  Carleton,  as  they  proceeded  to  the 
room  containing  the  Crown  Jewels. 

Garangula  spoke  no  word  while  they  looked 
at  the  wonderful  jewels. 

A  shade  of  sadness  stole  over  his  face. 

"What  troubles  you?"  asked  Lord  Carleton. 

"  Garangula  thought  of  the  women  who  sat 
by  the  gates." 

They  turned  away,  and  walked  from  the  Tower 
down  to  the  Thames,  and  took  a  boat,  Garangula 
asking  to  use  the  oars.  When  they  were  seated, 
he  looked  back  and  said  softly,  "Garangula 


190  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

wonders  why  the  white  man  keeps  the  Tower 
and  shows  it  to  strangers." 

A  picture  they  made  as  they  rowed  down  the 
Thames.  The  aristocratic  face  of  the  blonde 
Englishman,  turned  with  admiration  toward  the 
Indian,  who  was  using  the  oars  with  graceful, 
broad  sweeps.  One's  thoughts  went  back  to 
Garangula,  the  Sachem  of  the  Onondagas,  and 
wondered  if  the  Indian  with  Lord  Carleton,  were 
a  descendant  of  that  chieftain,  of  whom  it  was 
said,  he  "was  magnanimous  as  well  as  cour 
ageous." 

This  red  man  knelt  over  Nature's  well,  parted 
the  ferns,  drank  of  the  free  water,  rose,  and 
the  ferns  closed  again.  He  built  his  fire  on 
the  ground  and  cooked  his  simple  meal,  lay 
down  trusting  the  Great  Spirit,  and  slept.  The 
next  morning  he  went  his  way,  leaving  the 
winds  to  scatter  the  ashes,  and  the  grass  to 
spring  up  where  they  had  been.  Who  shall  say 
he  was  not  more  of  a  god  than  the  white  man  ? 
These  thoughts  came  to  Lord  Carleton.  After  a 
long  silence,  he  said:  "Garangula,  it  has  been 


SHE  OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  191 

good  to  bring  you  here  to-day,  yet  I  could  wish, 
we  had  not  come." 

"  Garangula  does  not  understand  why 

Hark!  Did  the  English  lord  hear  a  voice?" 

"  No,  I  heard  nothing,"  replied  Lord  Carleton. 

"A  voice  called  to  Garangula.  He  must 
listen  and  wait." 

The  dip  of  the  oars  grew  fainter  and  fainter 

as  they  floated  down  the  Thames the  Indian 

still  listened. 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-FIRST. 


'"Cbis  precious  stone  set  in  tbe  silver  sea, 
***** 

Ubis  blessed  spot,  tbis  cartb,  tbis  realm, 
tbis  £nglant>." 

Sbafcespeare. 


THE  day  after  the  visit  to  the  Tower,  Lord 
Carleton  and  Garangula  went  to  Windsor  Castle. 
When  returning,  Lord  Carleton  said  curiously : 
"Garangula,  what  have  you  most  enjoyed  in 
London?" 

"  Garangula  does  not  know  the  name  of  the 
place.  He  went  through  gates,  on  beside  tall 
columns,  feeling  exalted.  Through  two  door 
ways  Garangula  passed  and  found  himself  in  a 
room  surrounded  by  figures  of  men  and  women, 
cut  out  of  stone  and  marble.  Garangula  had 
strange  feelings." 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  193 

"What  were  your  feelings?"  asked  Lord 
Carleton. 

"Garangula  knows  not;  he  bowed  his  head 
and  said:  'The  Great  Spirit  is  kind  to  the 
Indian'." 

"The  British  Museum,"  thought  Lord  Carle- 
ton,  "  and  he  was  doubtless  in.  the  Elgin  Room. 
I  feel  humiliated.  I  have  never  been  there  but 
once,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  me  that  the  Lord 
had  been  particularly  gracious  in  giving  me  that 
privilege.  I  felt  rather  bored  than  otherwise, 
for  I  had  two  ladies  with  me,  one  an  American, 
who  constantly  exclaimed,  '  How  lovely ! '  while 
the  English  lady  chimed,  '  Perfectly  charming ! ' 
until  I  failed  to  recognize  Venus  de  Milo  from 
Diana,  if  they  were  there,  which  I  am  by  no 
means  sure." 

"  Then  Garangula  stood  in  the  room,"  resumed 
the  Indian,  "where  he  saw  figures." 

"  Statues,"  corrected  Lord  Carleton. 

"Statues,"  said  the  Indian,  "of  grand  looking 
men  and  women.  He  began  taking  their  atti 
tudes.  He  was  one  of  them  and  they  carried 
him  to  their  country  where  he  saw  men  and 


194  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

women  walking  the  earth  like  great  spirits. 
After  a  long  time  Garangula  came  back,  and 
walked  up  and  down  the  room,  talking  to  the 
statues.  He  knows  not  how  long  he  was  thus, 
but  Garangula's  spirit  seemed  to — ah,  he  cannot 
tell — he  cannot  tell,  he  knows  not  what  happened, 
it  was  all  so  strange.  But  Garangula  will  know 
some  day,"  he  said,  confidently. 

"  I  am  glad  you  felt  all  this,"  said  Lord  Carle- 
ton.  "  It  will  make  you  forget  prosaic  London 
for  a  while  at  least." 

"  Garangula  does  not  wish  to  forget  London. 
He  feels  poetry  here." 

"  I  realize  London  is  the  greatest  city  in  the 
world — one  feels  he  is  really  living  nowhere 
else.  It  is  full  of  interest  with  its  cathedrals, 
palaces,  art  galleries,  and  museums,  but  I,  a 
true  Englishman,  fail  to  see  its  poetry." 

"  Garangula  has  nowhere  felt  the  poetry  the 
London  fog  gives,"  said  the  Indian  quietly. 

"The  London  fog!  "  cried  Lord  Carleton. 

"Yes.  Both  the  yellow  and  black  fog,  but 
the  yellow  fog  most  of  all.  Garangula  will 
remember  always,  the  first  time  he  saw  the  yellow 


SHE  OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  195 

fog — a  thousand  forms  came  to  him  as  he  looked 
at  the  trees  in  the  park  that  rose  out  of  the 
yellow  light,  and  heard  birds  singing  softly  from 
the  branches,  birds  of  strange  plumage  coming 
from  an  unknown  land;  dark,  old  buildings 
changed  into  mysterious  castles,  which  Garan- 
gula  peopled  with  images." 

Lord  Carleton  listened  with  increasing  sur 
prise.  This  was  the  longest,  unbroken  sentence 
he  had  ever  heard  Garangula  use,  and  his 
language  was  different;  was  it  influenced  by 
the  teachings  of  the  beautiful  pale-face? 

"  The  yellow  cloud,"  continued  the  Indian, 
"hovered  over  all,  lending  a  distance  to  all 
things.  This,  with  the  hush,  as  the  fog  came 
on,  left  an  impression  that  is  with  him  still. 
The  black  fog  is  not  poetical,  but  solemn  and 
dramatic." 

"  Yes,  very,  when  one  gets  lost  in  it,"  replied 
Lord  Carleton.  He  looked  at  the  Indian  and 
wished  the  beautiful  pale-face  had  never  appeared 
on  the  plains. 

"Soon  after  Garangula  had  seen  the  yellow 
and  black  fogs,  he  went  to  a  building  where  there 


196  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

were  many  rooms  hung  with,  pictures.  Garan- 
gula  did  not  look  at  them  till  he  entered  one, 
where  his  delight  was  boundless.  The  fog 
seemed  to  hang  over  the  pictures.  He  had  not 
known  they  could  be  so,  even  after  all  the 
beautiful  pale-face  had  taught  him.  She  told 
him  much  about  pictures,  but  she  never  spoke 
of  that  which  he  saw  there." 

Lord  Carleton  frowned,  but  the  Indian  ex 
claimed:  "O,  these  fog  pictures,  Garangula 
cannot  explain !  He  never  cared  before  to  know 
who  painted  a  picture — he  said  he  will  under 
stand  some  time.  Then  he  saw  a  word — Turner. 
Garangula  thinks  that  was  the  name  of  the  man 
who  painted  them.  Garangula  will  meet  him  in 
the  Happy  Hunting-Grounds." 

"I  do  not  doubt  it,"  replied  Lord  Carleton. 

The  Indian  could  not  have  a  better  companion 
than  Lord  Carleton.  He  honestly  admired  his 
childlike  simplicity  and  faith,  and  showed  to 
Garangula  the  best  side  of  his  own  character. 
Garangula  was  impressionable,  yet  unchange 
able;  his  accent  was  almost  the  same  as  Lord 
Carleton' s,  and  many  phrases  had  taken  color- 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  197 

ing  from  the  pale-face,  but  nothing  could  change 
the  ideal  humanity  in  that  half  Indian,  who  had 
combined  in  him  the  simple  faith  of  his  savage 
mother  with  the  influence  of  the  deep  learning 
of  his  father. 

"Save  once,  Garangula  has  seen  nothing  so 
poetical  as  the  yellow  London  fog,"  he  con 
tinued,  earnestly. 

"What  was  that?  "  asked  Lord  Carleton. 

"After  the  Indian's  mother  went  on  the  long 
journey,  her  child  wandered  from  the  hills,  far 
away  among  the  snows.  One  night,  Garangula, 
wrapped  in  a  buffalo  robe,  lay  on  the  ground, 
but  he  slept  not.  There  had  been  a  snow  over 
which  sleet  and  rain  had  fallen,  the  trees  were 
covered  with  ice.  The  Lamp  of  the  Great  Spirit 
burned  in  the  sky  to  show  this  scene  to  His 
children.  The  earth  seemed  of  crystal.  Garan 
gula  imagined  there  were  crystal  caves  under 
neath  the  white  bushes  and  trees  in  the  distance, 
and  a  frozen  river  curved  in  and  out  among  the 
rocks,  and  strange  beings  lived  there ;  they  were 
robed  in  white,  wearing  jewels  made  of  white 
stones.  They  played  on  harps  and  sang.  He 


198  SHE  OF  THE   HOLY  LIGHT. 

heard  the  echoes  among  the  trees  that  moved, 
and  wondered  if  the  Lamp  hung  in  their  sky, 
and  the  white-robed  people  could  find  their  way 
to  the  Happy  Hunting-Grounds. 

"  It  was  real  to  Garangula  then.  It  is  poetry 
now.  The  fog  was  poetry  when  he  first  saw  it, 
and  is  poetry  still.  Garangula  knows  not  why." 

Lord  Carleton  looked  at  him  wonderingly. 
"Was  the  Indian  changing  after  all?  Would 
culture  rob  him  of  his  wild  nature?"  But 
Garangula  looked  the  same,  while  he  said: 
"  Garangula  thinks  poetry  is  the  only  real  thing. 
It  speaks  of  the  Happy  Hun  ting-Grounds." 

"I  shall  enjoy  taking  him  to  Westminster 
Abbey,"  thought  Lord  Carleton.  "I  hope  he 
has  not  been  there.  Curiously  enough,  while 
I  told  him  of  many  things  in  the  world,  I  said 
little  of  the  interesting  places  in  London.  I 
wonder  if  he  has  been  drawn  in  that  mysterious 
way,  to  any  religious  service?  He  had  never 
heard  a  sermon  when  he  left  me." 

"Have  you  been  to  any  of  the  cathedrals  — 
churches ?  "  asked  Lord  Carleton.  "But  why 
ask?  I  am  afraid  I  have  neglected  your  educa- 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  199 

tion  very  sadly  after  all.  Have  you  been  in  a 
place  where  the  people  rose  and  sung,  then 
listened  to  a  man  speak?  " 

"One  day,"  he  answered,  "Garangula  was 
walking,  and  heard  deep-toned  music.  He  went 
in  the  dwelling-place  whence  it  came,  and  the 
people  stood,  and  sang  together.  Garangula 
listened  with  joy.  When  the  song  was  finished, 
some  sat  down,  leaning  forward,  others  knelt. 
Then  a  man  spoke  loud  to  someone  afar  off. 
Garangula  thought  this  very  strange,  but  he 
did  not  look  up,  as  everyone  else  had  bowed 
head.  The  man  continued  to  speak,  and  so 
bewildered  Garangula  that  he  knew  not  what  to 
do.  He  said:  'O  Thou  most  high  God!  Who 
sittest  upon  Thy  throne  in  the  heavens,  draw 
nigh  unto  us  poor,  miserable  sinners'. 

"  Garangula  began  to  feel  anxious.  The  one 
to  whom  the  man  spoke,  seemed  to  be  far  away 
from  all  people,  and  he  begged  him  to  come 
down  and  help  trample  the  devil  underfoot,  '  for 
the  enemy  is  around  us ',  he  cried,  *  the  enemy 
encompasseth  us  about ;  we  are  sore  afraid  that 
we  will  be  overcome  by  temptation.  O,  Lord, 


200  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

spare  us  from  the  burning  lake  of  fire  and  brim 
stone 1' 

"  Garangula  could  listen  no  longer.  He  grew 
afraid,  because  he  did  not  know  who  was 
coming  to  the  people  in  that  house.  He  feared 
something  terrible  would  rush  upon  them 
and  destroy  them.  The  man  had  said,  'Thou 
alone  can  rescue  us ',  and  the  one  to  whom  he 
called,  still  seemed  far  away.  Garangula  was 
afraid  all  would  be  destroyed  before  he  could 
get  there.  It  was  the  first  time  that  Garangula 
knew  fear.  He  trembled  and  felt  something 
awful,  terrible  would  swallow  him.  If  he  had 
known  what  the  awful  thing  was,  he  would 
have  been  courageous  and  fought  with  it, 
but  he  did  not  understand.  He  looked  around 
quietly,  but  saw  nothing,  and  thought  perhaps 
the  ground  would  move  and  let  all  the 
people  down  into  that  burning  lake.  Garan 
gula  pictured  himself  breathing  the  scorch 
ing  flames  and  crying  out.  He  forgot  about  the 
Happy  Hunting-Grounds.  The  clear  streams, 
green  banks,  and  beautiful  hills  all  drifted  away. 
The  terror  of  that  burning  lake  separated  him 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  2OI 

forever  from  them,  and  lie  thought  lie  would 
never  find  them  again. 

"  Such  a  terror  seized  Garangula  that  he  could 
endure  it  no  longer.  He  bowed  his  head  lower 
and  lower  through  great  respect  for  these  people 
who  were  braver  than  he,  and  fled  noiselessly. 
He  ran  on  and  on,  till  he  came  to  great  trees. 
He  looked  up  at  the  sky,  so  peaceful.  He 
touched  the  tree  'neath  which  he  stood,  the 
branches  reaching  out  to  care  for  him.  Garan 
gula  stretched  forth  his  arms  to  the  sun,  the 
sky,  and  ground,  and  cried:  'O  loving  mother, 
receive  him  who  has  lost  his  way !  Help  Garan 
gula  who  is  far  away  from  the  Happy  Hunting- 
Grounds.  He  is  afraid ! '  Then  Garangula  knelt 
on  the  ground,  crying  out  again  and  again :  '  O 
Great  Spirit,  help  Thy  lost  child! ' 

"Leaves  came  down  and  kissed  Garangula' s 
upheld  hands  and  face.  He  closed  his  eyes  and 
knelt  lower  to  the  earth  till  prostrate  on  the 
ground,  his  face  resting  against  the  trunk  of 
the  tree.  A  great  peace  stole  over  him.  He 
heard  soft  music.  Garangula  does  not  know 
how  long  he  stayed  there.  When  he  opened 


202  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY  LIGHT. 

his  eyes,  the  Lamp  of  the  Great  Spirit  was 
lighted  in  the  heavens.  Garangula  arose,  went 
his  way,  and  was  not  afraid." 

Lord  Carleton  turned  his  face  from  the  Indian 
as  he  ceased  speaking ;  his  eyes  were  moist. 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-SECOND. 


EC  batb  not  seen,  nor  ear  bearl>,  neither  bare 
entereb  into  tbe  beart  of  man,  tbe  tbimjs 
wbicb  <5oo  batb  prepares  for  tbem  tbat  love 
«im." 

t.  Cor.  2.    9. 


RACHEL  stood  at  the  gate  looking  down  the 
country  road — a  vague  hope  had  come  that  some 
thing  might  happen  to  help  her  restless  spirit. 
The  hope  grew  stronger — some  one  was  com 
ing — coming  gently  as  the  twilight,  and  Rachel 
ran  to  meet  Jakusa's  "good  angel" — the  woman 
whose  name  was  Namora,  meaning  Light. 

"  How  could  you  know  I  longed  for  you?  "  and 
Rachel  lifted  her  hands  toward  her.  Namora 
looked  long  and  earnestly  in  the  soft,  brown 
eyes,  and  they  went  on  together. 

Rachel  thought  she  had  never  seen  Namora 


204  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

look  so  youthful.  After  partaking  a  light  meal, 
she  conducted  her  to  the  little  room  that 
looked  inviting  with  its  bare,  spotless  floor  and 
white  curtains.  They  sat  by  the  window  through 
which  the  moonlight  fell;  after  a  long  silence 
Namora  said,  in  exquisitely  tender  tones : 

"  This  is  an  anniversary  with  me." 

Rachel  felt  a  moment's  surprise.  She  had 
never  associated  "anniversaries  of  any  kind  with 
Namora. 

"Yet  time  is  not."  The  voice  was  still  sweet, 
but  stronger.  "Now  is  eternity.  I  will  tell  you 
a  story.  Should  you  like  to  hear?  " 

Rachel  answered  her  without  words. 

"Ages  ago,"  Namora  said,  "a  Russian  girl  of 
noble  birth  loved  a  Chaldean,  imbued  with  deep, 
religious  feeling.  Being  in  humble  life,  her 
hand  was  denied  him,  and  they  were  separated." 
Namora' s  voice  sank  into  a  musical  monotone, 
and  her  face  expressed  perfect  love  and  peace — 
"I  was  the  girl  who  loved  the  Chaldean." 

"Impossible!"  said  Rachel,  "and  yet,  I  have 
wondered  how  one  so  young,  possessed  such 
power." 


SHK  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  205 

"You  will  understand,"  replied  Nainora,  "  and 
through  knowledge,  discover  the  Fountain  of 
Youth.  Soon  after  our  parting,"  Namora 
resumed,  "I  felt  that  my  loved  one  was  in  great 
danger.  Then,  that  his  spirit  had  fled.  In  my 
agony,  I  cried,  '  Let  me  go ! '  and  fell  forward 
unconscious,  my  body  apparently  lifeless,  my 
spirit  joined  his.  We  met  the  same  as  when 
we  parted.  For  many  days  I  lay  in  that  trance- 
like  state,  and  my  spirit  wandered  with  his  in 
the  land  called  Mystery.  Among  many  won 
derful  things,  those  which  impressed  me,  were 
the  ruins  of  a  great  city  under  the  ground. 

"The  most  interesting  of  these,  were  two 
palaces  in  perfect  preservation.  Pink  and  black 
marble  they  were,  and  strange  they  looked 
amid  the  .ruins  of  thousands  of  years.  The 
blending  of  color  in  the  Pink  Palace,  was  the 
effect  of  the  rainbow  seen  from  the  mountain 
top.  A  mist  ever  hovered  about  the  colonnades, 
in  the  recesses,  whose  only  shadows  were  a 
deeper  pink.  The  floor  inlaid  with  mosaics  of 
precious  stones — pink,  amber,  gold,  and  green 
intermingling  with  the  rising  mist,  gave  one 


206  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY   LIGHT. 

the  sensation  of  walking  on  sunbeams  in  space. 
One  became  a  part  of  the  mist,  the  colors,  and 
the  incense,  and  tried  to  gather  the  incense  close, 
but  the  mist  and  colors  came  with  it.  A  sweet, 
subtile  perfume  floated  also,  and  beckoned  to 
deeper  colors  and  more  shadowy  mists,  where 
the  incense  was  not.  Soft  music  was  there, 
faintly  voluptuous,  that  grew  stronger  with  the 
perfumes  and  colors.  Beings  wondrous  fair 
floated  above  all,  and  with  every  motion  of  their 
perfect  limbs,  the  colors  and  music  gathered 
closer  and  closer,  till  one  closed  his  eyes  and 
almost  ceased  to  breathe. 

"My   brain    wavered. ..  .My    mind    made    a 

feeble  effort  to  grasp  a  far-off  memory As 

the  wondrous  forms  moved,  all  the  air  grew 
tremulous  and  the  shadows  darker. .  I,  though 
formless,  saw  my  own  form  standing  among 
them,  and  from  me  the  incense  had  floated 
far  away ....  By  and  by,  appeared  a  woman 
fairer  than  the  most  fair.  She  beckoned  us  to 
a  Sacred  Altar.  The  sight  at  first,  was  so 
dazzling,  our  eyes  were  blinded ....  We  saw 
the  seven  colors  radiating  from  the  centre  of  the 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  207 

Altar.  Side  by  side  each,  ray  of  color,  was  a 
note  in  music.  A  radiant  being  appeared,  bear 
ing  on  her  brow,  in  letters  of  gold,  the  word — Art. 
One  saw  the  sunset,  the  rainbow,  the  colors  of 
the  sea,  and  all  things  beauteous ....  Every  tone 
was  heard  from  the  soft  song  to  the  music  of  the 
spheres. 

"The  colors  and  sounds  grew  more  dazzling, 
more  intricate,  and  higher  harmonies  were 
heard ....  Another  appeared.  On  her  brow  was 
written — Poetry.  The  colors  and  sounds  radi 
ated  again They  waved  in  light ....  The 

mystic  meaning  of  Form  was  shadowed  forth. 

"  My  love  and  I  went  on  together.  We  came 
to  the  Black  Palace.  From  wondrous  light  and 
warmth  and  color,  we  passed  to  gloom.  All 
things  were  shadowy,  mystic — symbolical.  On 
the  walls,  hieroglyphics  dimly  lighted, were  found. 
The  floor  was  paved  with  black  and  purple 
stones.  In  dark  corners,  sphinxes  sat  in  solemn 
grandeur.  Mystic  books  were  hidden  under  the 
east  corner  ol  the  Palace.  The  most  wonderful 
of  these,  was  one  which  contained  the  characters 
of  the  Zodiac.  There  were  maps  carved  on  a 


208  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

bituminous  substance,  giving  the  history  of 
men's  lives  thousands  of  years  ago.  We  found 
there  an  image  carved  in  the  same  substance 
and  inlaid  with  gold.  It  was  the  face  of  a 
Chaldean — the  one  who  instructed  me  in  the 
hieroglyphics  of  the  heavens.  I  have  gone  back 
to  remote  periods  when  men  were  deep  in  dark 
ness.  My  present  life  is  my  own  choice.  I  am 
what  I  have  made  myself.  Thought  is  a  power 
that  turns  the  scales  of  what  man  calls  Destiny. 
Man  rules  his  own  destiny.  Ay,  he  originates  it. 
"I  will  tell  you  more  of  the  Black  Palace. 
Through  a  square  doorway,  on  either  side  of 
which  were  simple  massive  columns,  we  entered 
a  hall  of  solid  masonry  with  smooth  black  walls, 
and  found  ourselves  in  the  Whispering  Gallery 
of  Thought.  Bach  one  gathered  those  of  his 
own  past  and  their  attraction ....  To  some,  this 
hall  became  a  church  and  they  stood  before 
sacred  altars.  To  others,  it  was  transformed 
into  a  thoughtless  world  where  men  and  women 
lived  in  the  senses  only.  Some  were  radiantly 
happy,  drawing  the  holiest  influences.  Many 
were  plunged  into  deepest  hell,  and  writhed  in 


SHE   OF   THK   HOLY   LIGHT. 

the  most  horrible  torture,  breathing  forth  curses. 
Some  shouted  aloud  for  joy,  and  cried :  '  Most 
Holy!'  These  were  the  ones  who  had  helped 
the  poor  and  suffering. 

"We  went  on  and  on.  The  veiled  figure  of 
I  sis  stood  by  a  sarcophagus  in  a  dark  corner. 
We  drew  near,  and  looked  on  our  own  forms 
through  eons  and  eons  of  time.  A  strange 
feeling  seized  me ....  My  eyes  opened  to  the 
brilliant  life  we  led  in  the  Pink  Marble  Pal 
ace  ....  Our  term  of  probation  in  the  Black 
Palace  where  my  love  and  I  were  prepared  for 
the  journey .... 

"With  this,  there  came  great  memories.  I 
could  remember  that  life  distinctly,  but  from  the 
moment  we  left  our  bodies,  all  was  blank  to  my 
present  embodiment.  I  could  not  then  under 
stand  .... 

"After  a  time,  I  know  not  how  long,  a  wave, 
like  the  rushing  of  mighty  waters,  swept  over 
us.  We  stood  in  a  Temple  . . .  The  gods  were 
assembled  and  counseled  together.  They  spoke 
of  Celestial  Love — Transmuted  Force,  the 
Sacred  Fire  that  burned  with  power  and  splendor, 


210  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

but  did  not  consume.  It  gave  to  man  the  power 
of  the  gods,  and  enabled  him  to  stand  upon  the 
Great  Mount. 

"  Then  we  were  Initiated. 

"I  bore  a  Flaming  Torch  above  my  head. 
He  knelt  and  kissed  my  robe. 

"The  Flaming  Torch  burst  forth  enveloping 
us,  then  circled  into  Light.  A  voice  said: 
'Light  is  greater  than  Fire  V 

Rachel's  eyes  were  riveted  on  Namora's  face, 
while  she  was  speaking.  But  suddenly  a  strange 
drowsiness  overcame  her.  The  eyelids  drooped 
for  a  moment,  when  they  opened,  the  waning  of 
a  radiant  light  was  perceptible  to  Rachel's 
senses — Namora  was  gone ! 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-THIRD. 


'"CClatobman,  wbat  of  tbe  nigbt?' 
Jsatab,  21.    It. 


RACHEL  had  entered  the  depths.  Until  man 
begins  the  search  for  Truth  he  is  wonderfully 
tame,  then  he  becomes  godlike  in  his  very 
doubt.  As  the  tumult  rages  he  sometimes  bows 
before  the  storm,  but  never  gives  up  the  struggle. 

uAh,"  said  the  artist  when  Rachel  met  him 
again,  "  I  have  laid  aside  my  brushes.  I  knew 
you  were  coming.  I  am  too  happy  for  work 
to-day." 

"I  am  glad  you  are  happy,"  said  Rachel, 
quietly. 

"I  feel  like  a  child,"  he  answered;  "I  should 
like  to  play  on  the  sands,  and  laugh  with  the 
waves,  do  anything  a  happy  child  might  do." 


212  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY   LIGHT. 

"Do  you  feel  related  to  all?  "  Rachel  asked. 

"Ay,"  he  answered,  "to  the  waves  that  kiss 
the  shore,  to  the  rocks,  the  earth,  humanity,  and 
the  angels  that  sing  in  heaven.  Heaven !  Ah," 
and  touching  his  breast,  he  said:  "heaven  is 
here.  It  is  always  here,  if  hell  do  not  usurp 
its  place." 

He  knelt,  and  taking  up  pebbles  held  them  in 
his  hands,  saying:  "These  are  messages  to  me. 
The  world  is  a  message.  Glorified  humanity! 
Holy  God !  Oh  my  soul,  look  and  live ! " 

He  raised  his  hands  on  high.  "  I  would  em 
brace  all.  My  soul  is  infinite !  Eternity  is  now. 
I  seem  to  have  lost  all  consciousness  of  self;  I 
feel  I  am  an  invisible  fluid,  floating  round  with 
all  humanity,  all  creation.  My  spirit  is  every 
where,  and,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  with  this 
submerging  of  self  I  have  risen  to  great 
heights.  I  am  great.  I  am  Spirit." 

Rachel  stopped  and  looked  at  him  with  the 
full  light  of  her  deep  eyes. 

"That  is  right,"  he  said,  "look  into  my  soul; 
see  how  it  embraces  yours,  how  it  greets  all 
souls.  This  is  a  prophecy — every  beautiful 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  213 

thought  we  have,  every  good  deed  we  do,  are  but 
prophecies ;  it  lies  in  our  power  to  make  them 
fulfillments  in  this  life.  This  would  be  the 
millennium,  and  it  remains  with  us  whether  we 
will  have  it  sooner  or  later.  God  himself  will 
not  bring  it  about  till  we  are  willing." 

"How  did  you  attain  this?"  asked  Rachel. 

"Why  rehearse  the  story?"  replied  the  artist. 
"No  one  can  have  the  same  experience.  This 
one  thing  remember — I  WAS  WILLING  TO  BE 
FREE.  How  I  have  longed  for  Freedom !  Free 
dom  of  body  and  soul ! 

"  *  Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  O  my  soul, 
As  the  swift  seasons  roll! 

Leave  thy  low- vaulted  past! 

Let  each  new  temple,  statelier  than  the  last, 

Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 
Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 

Leaving  thy  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea.' " 

A  beautiful  picture  they  made — Rachel  robed 
in  white,  her  troubled  face  turned  toward  the 
sea;  he,  with  a  look  of  peace,  seemed  trans 
figured  as  the  sunlight  fell  around  them. 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-FOURTH. 


tTbc  quality  of  /Ccrcv  {0  not  strain'? ; 
31  troppctb  as  tbe  acntle  rain  from  beaven, 
Upon  tbe  place  beneatb.  3t  is  twice  bka't>; 
3rt  blcsBctb  bim  tbat  iiivcs  ano  bim  tbat  tafccs. 
Sbafecspeare. 


"  SHALL  tlie  Indian  tell  the  English  lord,  that 
which  has  moved  his  soul  more  than  all  he  has 
seen  and  heard  in  the  great  village?  " 

"Pray  tell  me,  Garangula,"  answered  Lord 
Carleton. 

"The  Indian  was  standing  near  a  great 
dwelling-place.  Not  far  away  was  a  bridge.  A 
stream  flowed  beneath  it.  Many  people  were 
going  in  the  dwelling-place.  The  Indian  went 
in  with  them.  A  grand  man  stood  up  and  spoke 
to  the  people.  His  eyes  looked  as  if  he  knew 
the  way  to  the  Happy  Hunting-G  rounds.  He 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  215 

was  not  as  tall  as  the  English  lord,  but  as  he 
spoke  he  grew  taller  till  he  seemed  a  giant.  He 
leaned  forward  and  made  motions,  and  his  voice 
was  like  the  music  of  the  winds  on  the  plains. 

"Garangula  could  not  understand  what  this 
great  man  said  to  the  people,  but  he  knew  he 
was  begging  them  to  do  a  noble  deed.  Garan 
gula  arose  and  listened.  He  must  stand,  while 
near  that  man.  Garangula  felt  strange.  He 
wanted  to  go  with  this  great  Chieftain,  who  was 
calling  on  his  tribe.  If  he  would  take  Garan 
gula  with  him,  he  would  do  anything  the  big 
Chief  told  him. 

"Big  Chief  was  grand.  He  looked  like  a 
great  tree  in  the  forest.  He  spoke  on  and  on, 
growing  more  and  more  like  a  giant,  his  voice 
making  stronger  music.  Garangula  trembled. 
He  must  go  with  the  great  Chieftain.  The 
Indian  forgot  where  he  was,  and  looked  around 
for  his  bow  and  arrow  and  knife — Ay!  Ay!" — 
his  eyes  flashed  fire.  "Garangula  was  ready  to 
scalp,  if  the  big  Chief  said."  The  Indian's 
voice  ran  into  that  musical  guttural  known  only 
to  the  savage. 


2l6  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY   LIGHT. 

"Garangula  looked  around,  everyone  was 
still.  They  did  not  understand  the  Chief  wanted 
them  to  do  anything.  But  the  Indian  could 
not  listen  any  longer  without  helping  him. 
When  the  big  Chief  leaned  forward,  stretched 
out  his  arms  and  spoke  strong  again,  Garangula 
took  off  his  turban,  and  gave  one  long  cry.  He 
sprang  from  the  dwelling-place,  then  ran  on,  to 
the  banks  of  the  stream,  leaped  into  the  water 
and  swam  many  miles  before  he  knew. 

"  Nah  saghalie  oleman  kullstik!  "  he  exclaimed. 

Garangula' s  tall  form  quivered  with  excite 
ment.  Lord  Carleton  looked  at  him  more  and 
more  astonished.  Slowly  he  repeated  the 
Indian's  last  words,  translating  them:  "Oh, 
high  old  oak  of  the  forest! " 

A  light  broke  over  his  face. 

"Gladstone,  by  Jove!"  and  he  clasped  Garan 
gula' s  hand. 

"  If  the  Grand  Old  Man  had  such  followers  as 
you,  the  Irish  question  would  soon  be  settled/' 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-FIFTH. 


"  JBe  te  therefore  perfect,  even  as  sour  Jatber 
wbfcb  is  in  beavcn  is  perfect." 


NAMORA  and  Rachel  had  met  again.  They 
walked  by  the  sea.  Soon  the  artist  approached 
them ;  his  face  lighted  with  joy  at  the  sight  of 
Namora,  and  he  said:  "I  have  prayed  to  see 
thee  again." 

Rachel  looked  surprised — she  had  not  heard 
them  speak  of  each  other. 

The  artist  said,  with  enthusiasm :  "  We  spoke 
of  miracles  when  last  we  were  together.  Would 
you  repeat  what  you  then  told  me  ?  I  wish  this 
fair,  troubled  girl  to  hear,"  and  he  smiled  benig- 
nantly  at  Rachel. 

"There    are   no   miracles,"   Namora   replied. 


2l8  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

"Christ  performed  no  miracles.  He  obeyed  The 
Law  and  the  results  astonished  the  people." 

"The  Law?  Ah,  what  is  The  Law?"  asked 
Rachel. 

"It  is  Love,"  answered  Namora. 

"How  may  we  learn  The  Law?"  Rachel  in 
quired. 

"By  forgetting  self." 

"And  how  may  one  do  this?" 

"By  recognizing  that  all  are  one  in  the 
Father." 

"But,"  Rachel  said,  anxiously,  "suppose  I 
cannot  grasp  that — what  then  must  I  do?" 

"Live  to  help  all  men,"  replied  Namora. 
"That  is  the  only  way  to  love  God  and  grow 
into  the  recognition  of  the  Father.  It  cannot 
be  by  the  letter.  It  must  be  done  in  the  spirit." 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-SIXTH. 


"t'c  sball  have  a  song  as  in  tbe  nigbt  wbcn  a 
bolig  solemnity  is  fcept,  ant>  cilatmcsa  of  beact 
as  wbcn  one  goetb  forth  with  a  pipe  to  come 
into  tbe  mountain  of  tbe  Xort>,  to  tbe 
one  of  Israel," 

3saiab,  30.    29. 


LORD  CARLETON  paused  a  moment  at  the  half- 
open  door,  unable  to  resist  the  deep  music  of  the 
voice  that  slowly  and  patiently  spelled  the  words : 
"S-o  t-h-a-t  i-t  s-e-e-m-e-d  N-i-g-h-t  1-i-s-t-e-n-e-d 
i-n  t-h-e  g-1-e-n-s."  The  voice  was  stilled  in  the 
thought.  Then  it  continued  spelling,  not  labori 
ously  but  slowly : 

"  'And  Noon  upon  the  Mountains;  yea!  they  write, 
The  evening  stood  between  them  like  some  maid, 
Celestial,  love-struck,  rapt;  the  smooth-rolled  clouds 
Her  braided  hair;  the  studded  stars  the  pearls 
And  diamonds  of  her  coronal;  the  moon 
Her  forehead  jewel,  and  the  deepening  dark, 
Her  woven  garments.  'Twas  her  close-held  breath ' " 


220  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

The  voice  ended  in  a  long-drawn  breath,  half 
a  sigh,  as  if  the  soul  were  too  full  for  utterance. 

Lord  Carleton  could  not  forego  the  pleasure  of 
interrupting  the  scene ;  he  longed  to  hear  Garan- 
gula  speak  his  thoughts  in  words — it  was  the 
first  book  he  had  known  him  to  attempt  reading. 

"Ah,"  said  the  Indian,  the  rapt  expression 
breaking  into  a  smile  of  gladness  as  Lord 
Carleton  entered.  "  Ah,  this  is  the  voice  of  the 
Great  Spirit.  And  Garangula,  the  Indian, 
listens." 

Lord  Carleton '  glanced  at  the  book,  and  was 
surprised  to  find  the  lines  he  had  heard,  were 
more  than  half  through  the  volume. 

"  Have  you  read—'  listened  '—to  all  that  ?  "  He 
turned  the  leaves  from  the  first. 

"  Garangula  has  listened  to  all  of  it." 

"When  could  you  have  done  this? " 

"The  Indian  awakes  in  the  night-time  and 
listens.  'Tis  then  he  hears  best.  The  Voice 
speaks  louder  to  him  and  he  understands. 
Sometimes  Garangula  rises  when  the  first  light 
comes  through  the  trees,  and  steals  softly  there 
and  listens." 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY   LIGHT.  221 

Lord  Carleton  looked  at  the  handsomely 
bound  volume  and  thought  it  one  from  his  own 
library,  till  his  eye  caught  sight  of  something 
that  flashed.  He  took  the  book  from  Garan- 
gula's  hand  and  looked  at  it  wonderingly. 
Brilliant  jewels  had  been  dextrously  fastened 
in  the  heavy  morocco  leather. 

Garangula  divined  Lord  Carleton's  thoughts 
and  said:  "  Garangula  was  passing  a  place.  He 
stopped  to  look  at  the  pictures.  His  eye  fell  on 
great  rows  of  books.  That  one  was  lying  open 
before  him.  Garangula  bent  over  and  listened. 
Soon  a  man  came  to  take  it,  but  Garangula  said : 
'The  Indian  wishes  this.  He  will  pay  great 
money  for  it,'  and  he  poured  out  gold,  then 
looked  at  the  man  to  see  if  he  might  have  it. 
He  looked  strangely  at  Garangula  and  pushed 
the  gold  from  him.  Garangula  was  sorrowful. 
He  thought  the  man  would  not  part  with  it. 
But  he  made  the  Indian  joyful;  he  took  it  and 
looked  closely  at  the  place  where  Garangula  had 
listened,  then  gave  it  to  him.  Garangula  put  it 
close  under  his  robe,  pointed  to  the  gold  and  left. 

"  Garangula   set    these  jewels   in   the   book. 


222  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

His  father  gave  them  to  him.  The  Indian 
feels  sorry,  because  the  man  can  never  find 
another  like  this.  When  Garangula  has  listened 
a  long  time,  he  will  take  it  to  him." 
•  He  looked  at  the  book  caressingly  and  said: 
"  Bnt  Garangula  loves  it." 

"  Oh  well,  Garangula,"  replied  Lord  Carleton, 
"  I  think  you  may  keep  it.  If  we  can  find  the 
man,  I  will  send  him  another." 

"The  English  lord  could  not.  There  is  no 
other." 

Lord  Carleton  smiled.  "Have  you  looked  to 
see  who  wrote  this  book  which  pleases  you  so?  " 

"This  is  not  a  book,"  said  the  Indian,  posi 
tively,  as  he  took  the  volume  from  Lord 
Carleton's  hands.  "  Garangula  tells  thee,  Eng 
lish  lord,  that  he  listens  to  this  and  he  hears  the 
Voice  of  the  Great  Spirit."  He  crossed  his 
hands  on  the  book  and  held  it  to  his  breast. 

"How  pleased  Sir  Arnold  would  be,  to  hear 
that  'The  Light  of  Asia'  is  the  Voice  of  the 
Great  Spirit,  and  my  Garangula  'listens',"  he 
said  with  a  smile. 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-SEVENTH. 


'"CClbtcb  are  a  sba&ow  of  tblngs  to  come;  but  tbc 
is  of  Cbrfst." 

Col.  ii.    6. 


IT  was  Easter  Sunday.  They  were  walking 
through  the  cloisters,  back  and  forth,  both  silent, 
Lord  Carleton  thinking  of  the  monks  who  had 
striven  to  reach  heaven  from  those  dark  cells — 
Garangula  listening  to  the  great  organ. 

Lord  Carleton  did  not  wish  to  enter  the  church 
until  the  service  ended,  lest  his  companion 
should  hear  something  to  disturb  him.  They 
went  in  as  the  audience  dispersed. 

The  tones  of  the  organ  grew  deeper  and 

deeper,  the  strains  more  heavenly angels 

were  ascending  and  descending ....  then  came  a 
triumphal  shout,  "Christ  is  risen!" 


224  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

The  last  notes  echoed  along  the  arches .... 
died  away  in  silence ....  the  sunlight  burst  from 
a  cloud,  and  like  a  holy  baptism  fell  on  the 
departing  worshipers.  Lord  Carleton  and  the 
Indian  were  alone  in  the  great  temple  of  the 
dead. 

The  tones  of  "Christ  Is  Risen,"  floated  back 
and  filled  the  sanctuary  with  a  mystic  holiness. 
In  exaltation,  Garangula  closed  his  eyes  and 
threw  back  his  head.  The  light  fell  on  his 
upturned  face. . .  .The  "mystic  holiness"  gath 
ered  about  him.  Lord  Carleton,  standing  apart, 
looked  at  him  as  the  light  touched  his  brow — 
"Ye  gods!  What  a  wondrous  face!"  he  mur 
mured. 

The  Indian  slowly  opened  his  eyes,  looked  at 
the  arches — at  the  long  lines,  "reminding  one 
of  the  soul's  hunger;"  then  at  the  windows, 
over  whose  pictured  saints  the  sun  was  casting  a 
halo,  and  said:  "This  is  like  a  forest  with  the 
glory  of  the  Great  Spirit  shining  through ! " 

He  gazed  at  the  human  symbols  of  goodness 
and  greatness,  and  said:  "Ah,  there  is  some 
thing  here  that  makes  Garangula  feel  like 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  225 

drawing  his  mantle  around  him  and  falling  on 
the  ground,  his  face  touching  the  earth." 

"  Does  he  feel,  I  wonder,"  thought  Lord  Car- 
leton,  "that  he  is  within  our  'holy  sepulchre', 
our  sanctuary,  our  grand  old  Westminster  ?  So 
be  it.  He  has  more  reverence  for  both  God  and 
man  than  his  friend.  I  am  humbled  again." 

He  went  nearer,  drew  the  Indian's  arm  through 
his  and  passed  from  the  Abbey,  not  speaking 
till  they  reached  Westminster  Bridge. 

The  soft  light  of  the  setting  sun  played  on 

the  Thames The  Westminster  Palace  cast 

its  dark  shadow  on  the  waters Lord  Carleton 

thought,  "  Christ  is  risen!  " 

The  Indian  said  softly:  "The  Great  Spirit  is 
over  all ! " 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-EIGHTH. 


"Hn6  tbe  princes,  governors  and  captains,  and  tbe 
king's  counselors,  being  gathered  togetber,  saw 
tbese  men,  upon  whose  bodies  tbe  five  bad  no 
power,  nor  was  a  bair  of  tbeir  bead  singed, 
neitber  were  tbeir  coats  changed,  nor  tbe  smell 
of  fire  bad  passed  on  tbem." 

Banlel  3.    27. 


IN  that  sequestered  spot  in  the  valley,  shut  iu 
from  the  rough  winds  of  the  sea,  Uncle  Jonah's 
home  lay  peaceful  and  still.  A  full  moon 
looked  down,  glinting  here  and  there  the  ancient 
sandstone  of  the  cottage,  lighting  up  the  deep, 
mullioned  windows,  touching  the  dark  green  of 
the  ivy  that  shaded  the  porch  and  climbed  to  the 
thatched  roof.  About  the  old  stone  well,  the 
shadows  played  and  peeped  down  into  the  cool, 
clear  water  that  reflected  the  rude  carving  of  some 
swain  hundreds  of  years  ago.  Close  by,  stood  a 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  227 

grand  old  horse  chestnut  with  spreading  bran 
ches.  Fruit  trees  sent  their  showers  of  pink  and 
white  blossoms  to  the  ground.  Wild  flowers  grew 
beside  the  lonely  coantry  road  that  stretched 
away  in  the  moorlands.  The  ivy  bent  its  green 
to  the  moss-grown  wall  that  enclosed  the  garden ; 
clematis  grew  about  the  gate  and  touched  the 
sweet-brier  that  clamored  for  its  place  in  the 
ruins  of  the  old  wall.  In  a  far-away  hidden 
corner,  the  violets  looked  out  timidly  at  the 
moonbeams.  The  lilacs  bloomed  in  great  pro 
fusion  and  sent  their  perfume  on  the  air.  The 
moonlight  and  perfumes  and  colors  sought  each 
other.  Clouds  of  incense  seemed  to  rise  from 
the  earth,  and  peace  was  over  all. 

Rachel  lay  sleeping,  the  moonbeams  kissing 
her  as  they  stole  through  the  white  roses  that 
enframed  her  window.  Her  face  was  less  troubled 

than  in  the  past Peace  was  coming  to  its 

home  I  She  smiled ....  angels  were  near. 

A  light  brighter  than  the  moonbeams  flashed 
again  and  again  still  brighter.  A  low,  un 
easy,  crackling  sound  disturbed  the  stillness. 
Rachel  moved;  her  arms  fell  01.  her  bosom, 


228  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

she  still  smiled.  The  light  flashed  stronger, 
the  sounds  grew  distinct,  like  the  sigh  of  a  com 
ing  storm ....  A  man's  voice  was  heard,  then  a 
piercing  cry  of  uFire!"  as  clouds  of  smoke  en 
veloped  the  stairway. 

"  Oh,  my  lamb !  My  child !  Must  you  perish  ?  " 
and  the  old  man  in  frenzy,  rushed  to  the  stairs — 
the  flames  drove  him  back. 

The  fair  sleeper  had  risen  and  stood  by  the 
window,  the  smile  not  wholly  faded  from  her 
face.  She  looked  up  at  the  sky — the  moon 
shone  as  if  no  tragedies  were  being  enacted. 
The  roar  of  the  sea  in  the  distance  mingled  with 
that  of  the  flames,  which  grew  more  furious 
each  moment.  She  turned  a  peaceful  face  toward 
her  terrified  friends,  and  said :  "  All  is  well.  I 
am  not  afraid." 

Great  forked  flames,  striving  to  reach  their 
victim,  shot  up  from  the  back  of  the  house  in 
demoniacal  fury.  Rachel's  face  grew  more 
divine ....  Another  moment  and  the  flames 
would  encircle  her 

Then  came  a  silence  vast  and  awful The 

flames  seemed  stayed.  Rachel  felt  arms  about 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  2 29 

her  and  thought  an  angel  had  come  to  lead  her 
on  the  way.  A  rope  was  drawn  quickly  and 
securely  around  her  waist,  but  she  did  not  realize 
this — only  the  tender  arms.  Her  soul  was 
apparently  reaching  out  into  another  life.  Some 
one  said:  "Fear  not."  A  moment  more,  and 
she  was  clasped  in  the  arms  of  her  friends. 
The  flames  burst  forth  from  below  and  swept  on. 
Rachel  had  now  fully  awakened  to  a  sense  of 
the  danger,  through  which  she  had  passed  un 
harmed.  An  inexplicable  look  came  into  her 
face  as  she  gazed  at  the  burning  house.  Above 
the  roar  of  the  flames,  she  heard  a  voice  clear 
and  distinct : 

"LIGHT  is  GREATER  THAN  FIRE." 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-NINTH. 


is  as  the  wise  man  7  and  who  fcnoweth  tbe 
interpretation    of  a  tbina?  a  man's  wisdom 

mafeetb  bis  face  to  ebtne " 

Ecclesiastcs  8.    t, 


"On!  wliar  is  my  missus?"  in  great  distress 
asked  Aunt  Dinah  of  the  watchman  who  stood 
at  the  door  of  the  theatre  in  the  Strange  Palace. 

"  She  is  there,"  answered  the  watchman,  look 
ing  toward  the  entrance  that  led  to  the  stage. 
"Your  mistress  has  pleased  the  people,  I  heard 
the  applause  but  a  few  minutes  ago." 

"She's  not  thar,"  cried  Aunt  Dinah,  wringing 
her  hands.  "I  hab  jes'  cum  frum  dar,  an'  I 
couldn't  find  her  nowhar,  an'  de  people  looked 
strange  an'  wus  agoin'  away.  Oh,  Lawd,  ole 
Dinah  beliebes  de  world  am  cumin'  to  an  end 
dis  night." 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  231 

"  Stop,  my  good  woman,"  said  the  watchman, 
"  tell  me  what  troubles  you.  Let  me  help  you." 

"Ole  Dinah's  heart  am  broke,"  said  the  weep 
ing  servant.  "  My  purty  lamb,  my  little  Wanda 
am  wid  de  angels;  dey  hab  cum  an'  tuk  her 
home." 

"Why,  when  did  this  happen?"  asked  the 
watchman,  sympathetically. 

"Ole  Dinah  had  put  her  to  bed  dis  ebnin'," 
she  replied,  uan'  sot  by  her  an'  sung.  Alter 
while,  I  begun  to  nod,  an'  I  don't  know  no  mo', 
tel  I  woke  up  wid  a  start,  an'  looked  for  de 
baby.  She  wus  a-standin'  still  in  de  cradle. 
Ole  Dinah  was  skeered — though  she  didn't  look 
sick — jes'  strange  like.  I  went  slowly  up  to 
her — she  wus  a-smilin'  jes'  like  I'm  dreamed  de 
angels  smile,  an'  dar  cum  a  light  on  her  face 
dat  made  ole  Dinah  mo'  an'  mo'  afeard.  Den 
all  ub  a  suddin,  dar  cum  sich  a  look  as  I'm 
neber  seen  on  de  face  ub  mortal  creetur.  Jes'  as 
I  got  to  her,  she  sorter  trimbled  all  ober  an'  fell. 
Ole  Dinah  snatched  her  up  quick  an'  felt  ub  her 
heart;  it  neber  did  beat  enny  mo'.  I  called  fur 
sumbody  to  cum,  but  nobody  answered — de 


232  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

baby's  mutlier  wus  Here,"  and  Aunt  Dinah  burst 
into  tears. 

The  strange  lights  burned  low  in  the  Egyptian 
Theatre.  Incense  floated  in  from  a  temple  not 
far  away.  On  either  side  of  the  stage,  the  sphinx 
still  sat.  In  their  mystic  repose  they  were 
saying,  as  they  had  done  for  thousands  of  years : 
"We  know  the  beginning.  We  know  the  end." 

The  excitement  in  the  vast  audience  was  so 
intense,  there  seemed  to  be  one  great,  deep  heart 
throb.  The  orchestra  played  a  low,  weird  strain. 
A  voice  sang — a  voice  so  rich  and  powerful,  yet 
such  an  intonation  that  some  whispered:  "It  is 
a  soul  crying  for  light !  ^  But  many  were 
electrified.  Then,  the  voice  grew  tremulous  and 
seemed  calling  to  someone  as  it  found  its  way 
through  a  labyrinth — it  came  nearer  and  nearer, 
growing  fuller  and  stronger  till  with  one  trium 
phant  note,  it  cried:  "Found! " 

Zulona  stood  before  them — a  Queen  of  Song. 

The  words  of  that  wonderful  opera  fell  from 
lips  that  seemed  'neath  a  spell.  The  notes  rose 

and  swelled,  filling  the  theatre the 

tone  suddenly  ceased — Zulona  turned  pale, 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  233 

every  nerve  quivering  as  she  stared  at  the  dome 
of  the  theatre.  No  one  breathed,  no  one  moved. 

Then  wildly,  madly,  she  clntched  at  her  throat. 
A  tone  rose  and  swept  on,  as  though  trying  to 
reach  the  stars.  The  voice  was  silent  again  — 
the  singer  grew  deadly  pale,  her  eyes  became 
transfixed.  The  audience  strove  to  see  that 
which  their  vision  could  not  discern. 

Zulona  opened  her  lips  •..  .the  voice  died  away 
in  a  whisper ....  Dazed  and  hopeless,  she  went 
from  the  theatre. . . . 

"Yes,  yes,  I  understood;"  she  whispered, 
standing  beside  the  cradle  of  her  dead  child. 
"And  yet,  oh  God!  —  I  was  ambitious.  Oh  ray 
baby,  my  baby ! " 

Her  body  swayed,  she  fell  senseless. 

After  a  time,  Zulona  opened  her  eyes;  they 
were  sunken,  her  face  haggard — she  had  grown 
an  old  woman  within  a  few  hours.  She  looked 
at  the  lifeless  form,  an^  said  as  though  to 
someone,  yet  she  was  alone — "Take  her  away! 
Another  sight  of  her  dear,  sweet  face  would 
drive  me  mad!  Great  God!  I  thought  I 
loved  nothing  but  ambition — I  know  differ- 


234  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

ently  now.  That  is  a  small  thing  compared 
to  the  beautiful  child  gone  forever  from  this 
life.  From  this  life?  Is  there  then  another? 
I  have  not  thought  so,  but  now,  I  want  to 
know  that  my  baby  lives  again!  If  I  could 
be  assured,  there  would  be  some  hope  left!  But 
alas!  I  do  not  know  this — no  man  can  tell  me, 
and  woe,  unutterable  woe  is  the  doubt!  It 
seems  to  me  the  very  stars  in  heaven  are  wheel 
ing  wildly  about  and  clashing  together.  Oh, 
this  black,  black  night!  This  never-to-be-for 
gotten  darkness  that  surrounds  me.  I  see  not 
one  single  ray  of  light,  or  hope,  or  joy  any  more 
forever.  Forever  and  forever!  How  that  word 
clashes  through  my  whole  being  and  leaves  my 
brain  burning!  Truly  this  is  my  Garden  of 
Gethsemane ! " 

Aunt  Dinah,  with  tear-stained  eyes,  waited  by 
the  door. 

"No;  go  away,"  the  sorrowing  mother  said. 
"  You  are  kind,  but  do  not  come  near  me !  Leave 
me  alone  with  my  sorrow!  Perhaps  the  time 
may  come  when  I  can  bear  to  look  on  another's 
face,  but  not  now — not  now."  The  words  died 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  235 

in  a  sob.  "  Let  no  one  come  near  me  this  night. 
And  in  the  morning" — she  shivered — "let 
someone  take  her  away.  My  baby!  Oh  my 
beautiful  baby!"  she  murmured  softly. 

At  midnight,  the  faithful  servant  found  her 
lying  with  her  face  on  the  floor. 

In  obedience  to  a  rite  she  had  witnessed,  Aunt 
Dinah  placed  candles  around  the  dead  body. 
The  suffering  mother  still  lay  prostrate.  Soon 
she  raised  her  head — the  lights  startled  her. 
She  drew  back,  then  stood  looking  intently. 
Was  there  not  some  other  light  than  the  can 
dles?  The  baby's  face  was  illumined.  Was 
it  speaking  to  her?  She  moved  nearer  and 
bent  over  the  couch.  A  sudden  darkness 
swept  between  them.  Then — or  was  it  imagi 
nation  ? . . .  From  out  the  darkness  a  horrible 

spectre  evolved slowly,  step  by  step,  she 

moved  back,  her  eyes  glaring  in  horror,  her 
bloodless  lips  frozen ....  Feebly  she  raised  her 
limp  hands  to  shut  out  the  vision,  then  the  arms 
were  flung  madly  behind  the  head,  and  a  wild 
laugh  echoed  through  the  room. 


236  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

"Ha!  ha!  You  come  to-night!  This  night  of 
all  the  years  since  I  banished  your  spirit — that 
mine  might — be — free!  Yes,  yes,  I  committed 
the  deed,"  the  words  came  in  shrieks;  her  eyes 
were  ablaze. 

"  With— this— hand  I  did  it—! "  She  swiftly 
clasped  it  to  her  bosom,  and  with  a  mad  laugh 
cried:  " Oh  hand,  I  kiss  thee!  Thou  didst  it  for 
my  freedom !  Ha !  ha !  Thou  spectre !  Dam 
nable  in  death  as  in  life.  Leave  me! " 

Gradually  the  scene  changed;  the  darkness 
gave  place  to  a  soft  light,  a  light  that  grew  and 
filled  the  room.  Zulona  became  more  calm. 
The  eyes  looked  out  with  a  wisdom  unknown  to 
them,  as  she  moved  beside  the  child  and  knelt. 
She  heard  the  whisperings  of  a  voice,  tender  and 
inspiring,  "  Freedom  comes  from  Within ! "  it 
said. 

The  candles  burned  more  brightly.  The 
mother  knelt  lower. 


CHAPTER  FORTIETH. 


valley  shall  be  eralteo,  ano  ever?  mouns 
tain  and  bill  shall  be  ma&e  low  ano  tbe  crooheo 
shall  be  maoe  straight,  ano  the  rough  places 
plain." 

3saiab,  40.    4. 


ON  the  morning  after  Wanda's  death,  Garan- 
gula  was  in  the  Strange  Palace.  He  said :  "  Tell 
the  beautiful  pale-face  that  Garangula,  the 
Indian,  would  take  the  little  papoose  and  bear  it 
away  to  the  forests,  and  bury  it  after  the  fashion 
of  his  own  people." 

He  waited,  as  if  for  reply,  then,  continued: 
"The  Great  Spirit  sent  Garangula  to  do  this. 
When  the  sun  has  gone  down,  and  the  lamp  is 
hung  high  in  the  heavens,  the  Indian  will  come 
for  the  little  white  papoose." 

Saying  this,  he  glided  from  the  room,  all  the 


238  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

native  Indian  appearing  now  that  his  emotions 
were  awakened.  There  was  not  Znlona's  in 
fluence,  nor  that  of  Lord  Carleton — it  was  the 
dusky  mother  coming  to  the  surface.  Every 
movement,  every  tone  was  Indian,  and  his 
listeners  looked  at  each  other  in  wondering 
silence. 

When  the  day  had  gone,  and  the  moon  hung 
high  in  the  heavens,  Garangula  entered  the 
Egyptian  Apartments.  Round  the  bier  were 
young  girls  robed  in  white;  about  their  heads 
veils  were  confined  with  wreaths  of  white 
blossoms.  They  made  room  for  Garangula. 
With  closed  eyes  and  bowed  head,  he  moved 
slowly  around  the  body  three  times  in  a  circle, 
chanting  one  of  his  native  songs.  Then  he 
spoke  with  a  mournful  cadence: 

"Garangula,  the  Indian,  sends  this  message 
to  the  sorrowing  pale-face.  O  beautiful,  sad-eyed 
mother,  Garangula  will  take  thy  baby  and  bury 
it  after  the  manner  of  the  red  man.  The  Indian 
doth  promise  thee  this :  Those  who  have  gone 
on  a  journey  to  the  Happy  Hunting-Grounds, 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  239 

will  watch  over  thy  papoose.  O  Star-Eyed-One, 
farewell!" 

The  Indian  took  his  place  beside  the  bier; 
again  he  bowed  his  head  and  crossed  his  hands 
on  his  breast. 

The  moon  shone  through  the  trees  and  fell  on 
the  people  of  the  Strange  Palace,  who  stood  with 
uncovered  heads.  The  white  robed  maidens, 
nine  in  number,  walked  with  soft,  measured 
touch  to  the  Indian's  chant.  Aunt  Dinah  and 
the  faithful  dog  followed.  Through  the  gates 
of  the  Strange  Palace  the  procession  moved 
softly,  musically,  on  to  the  forests,  in  whose 
bosom  they  laid  Zulona's  child  to  sleep. 

The  Lamp  o'  the  Night  whispered  softly  to 
the  Indian  that  another  day  had  begun.  Still 
he  stood  by  the  little  grave ;  the  dog  at  his  side 
looked  up  questioningly. 

"  Garangula  must  go  deeper  into  the  forests," 
he  spoke,  in  his  own  language.  u  Must  go  deep 
into  the  forests  and  seek  that  he  has  lost.  Garan 
gula  does  not  understand" — a  look  of  confusion 


240  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

passed  o'er  his  face — "but  something  has  gone 
from  the  Indian,  and  he  must  find  it." 

Garangula  went  into  the  forests ;  the  dog  laid 
down  by  the  grave. 


CHAPTER  FORTY-FIRST. 


'farewell,  a  long  farewell  to  all  m$  greatness, 
•Cbis  is  tbe  state  of  man  ;  to=6av;  be  puts  fortb 
Ube  tenter  leaves  of  bope,  to=morrow  blossoms, 
Bn&  bares  bis  blushing  bonors  tbicfc  upon  bim, 
"Cbc  tbtrfe  &as  comes  a  frost,  a  billing  frost; 
Bnt>,  be  tbinfcs,  goot>  eas^  man,  full  surely 
fjis  greatness  is  unripentng— nips  bis  roots, 

»n&  tben  be  falls  as  3  *>* - " 

Sbahcepearc. 


"WHILE  the  morning  was  yet  young,"  a 
woman  robed  in  gray,  was  nearing  the  Strange 
Palace.  She  seemed  borne  by  some  invisible 
power,  there  was  so  little  effort  in  every  move 
ment. 

Within  the  Egyptian  Apartments,  a  pale 
woman  sat  by  the  table,  writing.  A  curious,  old 
Egyptian  lamp,  its  oil  well  nigh  spent,  cast 
faint  light  on  the  paper.  The  woman  was 


242  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY  LIGHT. 

dressed  for  traveling.  Her  hand  nervously 
glided  over  the  paper  as  she  wrote : 

Dear  Aunt  Dinah — I  am  going  away  from  the  Strange 
Palace. 

I  leave  this  money  for  you.  Go  back  to  the  old  home 
and  wait  for  me.  Sometime,  I  will  return — have  faith 
in  me.  Good-bye,  Aunt  Dinah,  my  faithful  nurse — the 
only  friend  I  have  in  all  the  world.  Forgive  me  for 
leaving  you.  ZULONA. 

The  letter  was  sealed  and  stamped  with  a 
monogram  that  had  not  been  used  for  a  long 
time. 

She  arose.  The  lamp  had  gone  out.  The 
mantle  was  drawn  more  closely  about  her,  the 
better  to  disguise  herself.  She  paused  a  mo 
ment — every  line  on  her  face  spoke  of  a  purpose 
difficult  to  fathom.  Clasping  a  small  packet, 
she  stole  from  the  room,  and  stealthily  crept 
through  the  long  halls  and  intricate  passages  of 
the  Strange  Palace — on  to  the  broad  avenue. 
She  had  nearly  reached  the  gates  before  she 
thought  of  their  being  locked — Heaven  forbid ! 
and  they  would  not  open  again  for  six  days; 
the  thought  was  like  a  stab — she  held  her  breath. 
Lo!  the  gates  noiselessly  opened.  She  passed 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  243 

through,  unheeding  the  miracle — the  new  reso 
lution  so  filled  her. 

But  a  few  steps  had  been  taken,  when  in  front 
of  her  she  saw  Namora.  Zulona  said  humbly: 
"Help  me!  I  am  willing  to  learn  of  you  now." 

She  of  the  Light  looked  at  her  with  sympathy 
and  love,  and  the  two  went  on. 


CHAPTER  FORTY-SECOND 


'JBut  tberc  sball  not  an  hair  of  igour.I)eal>  perieb." 

lufcc,  21=18. 


AFTER  tlie  night  of  the  vision,  Leota  the 
Indian  maiden,  studied  and  worked  steadily 
onward.  Her  teachers  became  proud  of  her 
attainments.  True,  she  had  lost  something  of 
the  stillness  she  possessed  five  years  before — 
the  deep,  sustained  breath  which  gives  freedom, 
was  no  longer  hers.  In  compensation,  the  curves 
of  her  waist  were  deeper  and  more  at  variance 
with  shoulders  and  hips — this  was  part  of  her 
education.  Her  tones  were  not  so  pure  but  her 
"sentences  were  grammatical";  this,  too,  was 
satisfactory. 

Ofttimes  they  told  her  she  would  uplift  her 


vSHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  245 

people,  when  she  returned  as  a  missionary. 
These  words  and  the  vision  sustained  her. 

The  time  came  at  last,  when  she  stood  before 
an  audience,  and  said  parting  words  to  her  class 
mates  

Ten  moons  had  grown  full  and  paled,  since 
Leota  returned  to  the  Reservation  to  uplift  her 
people. 

It  was  a  night  like  the  one  when  Garangula 
slept  in  front  of  her  father's  wigwam.  She  was 
alone  upon  a  cliff.  The  stars  moved  slowly 
above  her.... The  mountains  towered  majesti 
cally  around  her ....  The  stillness  was  awesome. 
With  a  voice  calm  as  the  stars  she  spoke : 

"  Great  Spirit,  Leota,  the  Indian  maiden,  has 
no  home  this  side  the  Happy  Hunting-Grounds. 
No  place  among  the  pale-faces.  No  place  with 
the  red  man.  O  Great  Spirit!  The  Indian 
maiden  asks  one  boon  of  Thee.  Let  her  spirit 
go  to  Garangula,  and  help  him  with  our  people." 

She  bowed  her  head  and  folded  her  arms  on 
her  breast,  then  flung  herself  from  the  steep. 
Lo !  midway  the  precipice  her  body  was  caught 


246  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY   LIGHT. 

up  by  fire three  times  it  circled,  then  van 
ished. 

Far   above,  an  ethereal   substance   swept  on 
into  the  Great  Light. 


PUM  SJDE  noto  tax  insara  pram 

AT  :   •         JT  -  rr  ••   :       )  v  ;v  JT   •    :  .  -   -  ; 

^ro  "63^3  inarn  niapai 

v  :  -       j»  j         T     "  v  :  —  :  <  '  T  - 


iruaro 

"Kings.  6.7.  I      IT    •    : 


IN  the  midst  of  a.  great  city  stood  a  Temple 
called  The  Beautiful.  Broad  halls  there  were, 
with  great  arched  doorways,  but  no  doors  save 
one.  Windows  pictured  the  Glory  of  God,  and 
when  the  sun  through  them  shone,  all  things 
were  Illumined. 

The  Temple  was  of  an  architecture  unknown 
to  men,  and  they  called  it  wondrous.  Men 
profane,  looked  on  it  and  thought  it  music, 
poetry  and  sculpture.  Others  said:  "No,  it  is 
Religion."  And  yet  a  third,  who  deemed  him- 


248  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

self  wiser  than  the  rest,  said:  "It  is  Art  and 
Religion." 

Artists  looked  on  it,  and  all  things  sensuous 
were  lost  in  symbols.  Art  had  a  meaning  anew. 

Lovers  of  Good  on  it  gazed.  Through  Truth 
they  saw  Beauty. 

So  great  the  architecture  it  seemed  thousands 
of  years  old.  Some  believed  it  had  been  builded 
in  a  night-time,  that  God's  messengers  had  come 
and  built  it  whilst  they  slept. 

Soft  tones  like  the  whisperings  of  angels 
floated  throughout  that  Temple.  On  its  facade 
was  a  great  clock  that  marked  the  hours  by 
music ....  music  that  made  many  a  weary  trav 
eler  pause  as  he  listened  to  tones  that  suggested 
new  thoughts  of  time. 

IT  WAS  ETERNITY  NOW. 
UIN  THE  GREAT  FOREVER  GOOD  CREATES." 

Golden  gates,  wrought  with  a  curious  design, 
enclosed  the  Temple.  Each  time  a  chord  was 
touched  from  the  great  clock,  the  gates  swung 
open.  Like  the  statue  of  old,  it  struck  the  first 
chord  at  sunrise,  and  the  gates  swung  to  and  fro 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  249 

till  the  sun  went  down.  Then  opened  not  before 
the  dawn  of  another  day. 

And  as  the  gates  opened,  men  looked  and 
wondered,  and  wondering,  entered.  Then  moved 
by  aught  they  knew  not,  they  desired  Under 
standing. 

Within  the  Temple  were  three  chambers  more 
wondrous  still. 

Over  the  first  was  writ Silence.  Within 

that  sacred  place,  the  ways  of  the  sons  of  men 
were  not.  And  yet,  one  must  listen. . .  .to  catch 
the  whisperings  of  the  angels. 

O  sacred  Chamber  of  Silence,  that  angels 
builded  in  the  night-time !  How  can  one  describe 
thee  unto  men!  It  is  still  there  within  the 
Temple  Beautiful  that  stands  in  the  midst  of  a 
great  city ....  You  must  listen  would  you  catch 
the  whisperings  of  the  angels. 

Between  the  Chambers  of  Silence  and  Truth 
was  a  veil.  To  some  it  disappeared.  Yet  many 
looked  and  understood  not  its  meaning. 

The  third  chamber  was  not  so  peaceful  as  the 
others.  And  the  way  that  led  thereto  was  not 
long  but  intricate ....  winding  passages  inter- 


250  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

sected  the  corridor,  and  many  peoples  lost  their 
way. 

A  vast,  white  chamber  it  was,  and  very  beauti 
ful.  From  the  portal  there  were  steps  that  led 
to  a  living  picture,  with  a  halo  around  it. 

To  some  it  appeared  a  beautiful  Madonna 
floating  in  the  sunlight,  above  a  scythe  that 
glistened  in  the  golden  grain.  The  babe  she 
held  in  her  arms,  smiled  as  he  stretched  out  his 
hands  toward  the  sheaves.  A  peasant  paused 
in  his  work  now  and  then  to  look  up  at  the 
holy  Madonna. 

O  Madonna  of  the  Scythe!  O  Holy  Mary! 
How  can  I  tell  of  thee  unto  men!  I  cannot. 
And  I  weep  it  is  thus  —  .  In  a  far  away  temple — 
the  Temple  of  Motherhood  it  lives. 

BUT  YOU  MUST  HAVE  WISDOM   TO  SEE  IT. 

Far  and  wide  spread  the  fame  of  the  Temple, 
till  sons  of  men  from  all  nations  of  the  earth 
journeyed  thither. 

And  in  the  night-time  when  the  great  world 
slept,  a  white-robed  Priestess  went  in  and  out  of 
the  Temple,  like  the  Vestas  of  old,  who  kept  the 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  251 

sacred  fires  of  Rome  burning  night  and  day.  So 
radiant  was  her  face,  and  peaceful,  that  when 
she  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  Temple,  and 
looked  out  in  the  night  as  she  sometimes  did, 
the  sight  of  her  moved  one  to  awe,  and  the 
watchman  would  bow  his  head  and  cry  out  the 
hour. 

Song  in  that  temple  was  divine..  All  force 
became  Glorified.  Beings  who  tarried  therein 
were  illumined.  They  knew  God. 

On  the  walls  hung  a  wonderful  chart.  From 
the  base  there  grew  a  combination  of  angles  and 
curves.  These  became  spirals  and  finally  con 
verged  into  a  Great  Circle.  In  its  centre  was 
the  word — Truth. 

Along  the  base  line  was  writ,  Economy.  From 
the  Spirals  there  swept  up  a  mysterious  figure 
bearing  the  name  of  Freedom.  This  reached 
out  and  connected  itself  with  the  Great  Circle 
round  which  was  writ,  Power. 

From  the  figure  of  Freedom  a  ray  of  light 
strove  to  pass  in  a  straight  line,  but  there  gath 
ered  about  it  a  brilliance  as  of  millions  of  suns. 
And  its  identity  was  lost. 


252  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

Radiating  from  Truth  was  the  wonderful 
trinity — Economy,  Freedom,  Power.  It  em 
braced  all  the  relations  of  life. 

Lawgivers  interpreted  it  and  saw  the  true 
Political  Bconomy,  realizing  Universal  Brother 
hood.  They  recognized  that  the  true  under 
standing  of  the  principle  in  creation  brings 
Freedom.  .And  that  Freedom  gives  all  Power. 

Artists  looked  on  it  and  said:  "Art  is  no 
longer  a  mystic  incarnation." 

All  the  world  received  instruction.  They 
learned  there  was  no  bondage  save  violation  of 
Law.  And  no  Freedom  save  obedience  to  Law. 
That  "  through  Love  Wisdom  is  found."  There 
fore,  unto  Love  all  things  are  possible. 


nna  aisv-i    rrnn  rani 


"O3O1  _  .... 

Jsaiab,  4*6.  IT   T     •  Vfv  • 


THE  Temple  Beautiful  still  stood  in  tlie  midst 
of  a  great  city.  The  clock  continued  to  mark 
off  the  hours.  The  music  flowed  on.  Echoes 
were  heard  anon  far  away  from  the  gates. 

The  white-robed  Priestess  had  reached  the 
highest  development  of  Woman.  Intuition  was 
complete.  She  was  surrounded  by  a  great  light, 
and  when  she  gave  forth  knowledge  this  grew 
brighter,  until  at  times  all  Identity  was  lost. 

She  spake  unto  the  women,  telling  them  they 
were  the  Wisdom  Principle  in  Creation.  And 
that  principle  would  unfold  all  Power,  bringing 
Peace  on  earth.  The  world  would  not  attain 


254  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

Perfect   Expression   until  Woman   became  the 
shrine  of  Wisdom  and  Love. 

And  it  came  to  pass,  that  while  the  sons  of 
men  from  all  nations  of  the  earth  gathered 
together  in  the  Temple,  they  brought  offerings 
and  laid  them  at  the  gates.  The  rich  man  left 
bonds  of  great  estates  that  he  might  enter  the 
Chamber  of  Silence.  Women  brought  jewels. 
A  sad-eyed  mother  softly  laid  a  little  white  robe 
with  the  others.  A  packet  of  letters,  yellow 
with  time,  were  found  hidden  in  a  casket.  Those 
who  begged,  gave  coppers  at  the  gates.  Hard 
hands  laid  down  a  whole  life's  labor.  The  most 
beautiful  gave  up  her  conquests,  the  statesman 
his  ambition,  the  warrior  his  pride,  the  poor 
their  poverty. 

It  was  whispered  the  time  of  Peace  was  draw 
ing  nigh.  Still  the  high  Priestess,  whom  they 
called  Rachel,  went  in  and  out  of  the  Temple, 
and  spake  unto  the  people. 

"The  Christmastide  draweth  nigh,"  she  said, 
one  holy  day.  "Retreat  within  the  Bethlehem 
of  thine  own  souls.  Let  the  Christ  speak.  Let 


SHE   OF  THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  255 

the  light  from  the  Bast  shine  above  the  Judean 
hills  of  all  the  earth." 

She  told  them  what  the  light  was — the  sweet, 
beautiful  life,  so  divine  yet  simple,  clothed  in  a 
glory  unknown  before.  Through  this  pure  Life 
the  Great  Mystery  was  solved.  They  learned  to 
become  Brothers  in  Christ,  and  through  this, 
understood  the  At-one-ment  with  the  Father. 

The  multitude  sang  praises:  "Glory  to  God 
in  the  highest,  and  on  earth  peace,  good  will 
towards  men ! " 

Bchoes  came  back  from  the  uttermost  parts  of 
the  earth,  "The  light  is  about  us." 


a 

J(T  T  IV  t  V     T     :  T  T  •       <•    T 


3eaiab.  44.    22.  '    I*   :    -  :         >•        r 


IN  the  great  city  where  stood  the  Temple 
Beautiful,  the  people  assembled,  inquiring, 
"  Who  is  this  come  whose  creations  have  breath? 
Whose  song  reveals  the  divinity  of  man,  because 
the  respirations  are  from  the  depths  of  the 
soul?  Art  may  now  become  the  embodiment 
of  a  spiritual  truth — the  Truth  that  shows  the 
beauty  and  power  of  man  when  he  shall  be  an 
'  embodied  soul  and  ensouled  body '." 

There  was  not  only  a  culmination  of  all  that 
had  been  in  Art,  but  a  Prophecy.  The  artist 
could  enact  the  Prophetic  Ideal.  "But  lo! "  said 
the  critics,  with  troubled  countenance,  "there  is 
no  Prophetic  Ideal." 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  257 

Startling  fact !     Terrible  revelation ! 

"Can  it  be,"  said  they,  "that  we  are  so  poor? 
Surely  we  might  find  that  we  seek  in  all  the 
centuries  have  hoarded." 

Still  troubled,  they  said:  "Is  it  true  that  as 
we  are  passing  through  the  realm  of  life  which 
leads  to  all  Beauty,  and  no  longer  care  to  have 
crime,  and  the  misconception  of  passion  por 
trayed  on  the  stage — no  longer  care  to  see  what 
we  have  been ;  but  desire  earnestly  to  know  our 
highest  selves,  and  have  shadowed  forth  to  us 
what  we  may  be,  even  in  this  life — there  is  no 
drama  or  opera  in  which  this  can  be  done?  " 

They  were  aghast  at  the  revelation!  "False 
reasoners ! "  cried  one  who  had  wisdom.  "  Blind 
are  we  not  to  know  this  truth,  which  the 
simplest  thing  in  nature  would  teach  us,  if  we 
understood  the  alphabet :  Every  color  in  all  this 
beautiful  world  has  its  correspondence,  yea,  every 
tint  and  sound. 

"If  one  hath  arisen  who  can  foretell  what 
humanity  may  become,  an  opportunity  will  be 
allotted. 


258  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

"Then  why  doubt?  Listen  to  the  harmonies 
of  God's  world,  and  wait. ..." 

While  they  waited  there  came  a  voice  from  a 
distant  land.  One  who  desired  not  to  be  heralded. 

*•••  •'• 

**•  *i* 

No  curtain  fell ....  the  scene  continued  the 
same.  At  the  end  of  the  first  act,  the  applause 
rang,  to  be  taken  up  again  like  waves  of  music ; 
but  the  singer  made  no  recognition ....  Appro 
bation  gave  place  to  cries ;  women  tore  off  their 
jewels  and  flung  them  at  her  feet.  The  wonder 
ful  artist,  the  glorified  being,  knelt,  and  from 
the  jewels,  took  a  spray  of  olive  and  placed  it  in 
her  bosom. 

The  light  from  that  far-off  time  had  found  its 
way  through  the  darkness  of  all  the  ages,  and 
again  revealed  itself  unto  men  The  stars  grew 
brighter  and  moved  with  more  perfect  rhythm. 
The  "spheres  chorused  with  her,  shouting  the 
paeans  of  victory."  It  was  not  song,  and  yet  it 
was  the  highest  expression  of  Song. 

"Victory!"  cried  Zulona,  leaving  the  stage. 

"Nay,  Peace,"  said  She  of  the  Holy  Light. 


CHAPTER  FORTY-THIRD. 


"light  is  sown  foe  tfte  righteous,  foe  tbe  uprigbt 
in  beart." 

Ipsalm  98.    II. 


THERE  was  a  great  fete  in  Rome.  A  master 
had  risen  among  them,  but  they  knew  him  not. 
They  could  learn  nothing  concerning  him  save 
the  most  romantic  story.  Who  was  he?  Whence 
had  he  come?  A  fete  given  in  honor  of  one 
they  did  not  know ! 

The  rooms  set  apart  for  the  two  great  works, 
were  thronged  with  people.  The  excitement 
could  be  compared  to  nothing  but  a  political 
crisis  in  olden  times.  They  called  for  the  mas 
ter  to  come  forth  and  be  crowned.  Artists  from 
all  Italy  came,  and  the  fame  went  to  other 
countries. 


260  SHE  OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

The  statues  were  of  bronze.  Critics  said  they 
were  greater  than  anything  Michael  Angelo  had 
done.  The  artist  had  combined  grace  and  force 
with  an  indefinable  spirituality. 

"If  I  could  only  see  them! "  said  Lord  Carle- 
ton,  as  he  and  Lady  Carleton  stood  among  the 
crowd.  "  From  the  description,  one  at  least,  must 
be  a  statue  of  Garangula ;  and,  Elise,  my  heart 
tells  me  it  is,  and  that  through  this  I  shall  find 
my  friend." 

They  waited  a  long  time  with  impatience — 
the  crowd  slowly  moved  near  and  Lord  Carleton 
caught  a  glimpse. 

"My  long  sought  Garangula!"  he  cried.  As 
the  dignity  and  majesty  of  the  statue  grew  upon 
him,  tears  were  in  his  eyes. 

"How  well  I  know  that  poise!"  he  said,  at 
length.  "  I  do  not  wonder  the  Italians  are  wild 
over  them.  But  where  is  Garangula?  You  are 
not  hearing  a  word  I  am  saying,  Lady  Carleton, 
but  I  pardon  you.  Much  as  I  admired  him,  I 
did  not  dream  he  was  so  handsome.  Look! 
there  is  the  other  statue.  The  same  form.  But 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  261 

I  cannot  stay ;  my  impatience  to  see  Garangula 
grows,  now  that  I  feel  lie  may  be  near." 

They  retraced  their  way  slowly  through  the 
crowd.  "And  think,  dear,"  Lord  Carleton  con 
tinued,  "it  was  Garangula  who  led  me  to  you. 
I  have  not  yet  learned  what  'obeying  the  Law 
of  Succession '  means,  but  I  am  content  that  you 
are  now  Lady  Carleton." 

As  they  walked  down  the  broad,  marble  steps, 
they  passed  a  man  talking  in  suppressed  tones 
to  his  servant. 

"Damnable  fool!"  he  said.  "Were  you  not 
sent  here  to  watch  Garangula?  Where  has  he 
gone?  Did  I  not  tell  you  to  overshadow  him 
day  and  night?  Cursed  be  my  star  that  took 
me  from  Rome !  Where  is  Garangula,  faithless 
servant?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  your  servant  knows  not,"  he  answered 
tremblingly. 

"What  have  you  been  doing?" 

"I  know  not  how  to  tell  it,  sir.  I  attempted 
to  find  my  way  to  him,  but  could  not." 

"Idiot,  did  you  not  have  my  directions? " 

"Ay,  sir,  and  tried  to  use  them,"  replied  the 


262  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

frightened  servant.  "But  each  time  —  I  know 
not  what  happened,  I  lost  my  way.  Then  I 
hired  a  guide,  and  he  too,  grew  confused ;  at  last} 
I  became  unconscious,  and  was  taken  to  my 
lodgings,  and  knew  nothing  more  until  this 
morning,  when  they  gave  me  your  dispatch." 

The  light  fell  aslant  the  bronze  statues. 
Mazaro  stood  beside  them;  his  eyes  were  set, 
his  limbs  grown  rigid. 

With  effort,  his  hand  found  its  way  to  his 
bosom,  and  drew  forth  a  dagger.  Black  clouds 
of  smoke  burst  from  his  breast  and  moved  in 
downward  spirals.  Demons  gathered  about  him. 

"  Garangula  is  within  the  Great  Circle,"  they 
hissed  in  his  ear,  and  laughed  demoniacally. 

The  smoke  grew  blacker,  the  spirals  smaller, 
swifter  and  stronger ;  then  swept  backward  with 
greater  force,  each  wave  of  smoke  bearing 
horrible  discords,  till  all  the  air  seemed  filled 
with  voices  of  the  damned. 

The  dagger  was  slowly  raised — the  evil  spirits 
pressed  closer  and  closer  around  him,  the  black 
clouds  enveloping  them.  The  knife  descended, 
and  Mazaro's  lifeless  body  fell  at  the  foot  of 
Garangula' s  statue. 


CHAPTER  FORTY-FOURTH. 


Knt>  tbeB  tbfrstel)  not  wbcn  be  lel>  tbem  through 
tbe  fceaerta:  be  causes  tbe  waters  to  flow  out 

of  tbe  rocfe  for  tbem " 

3safab,  47.    21. 


IT  was  weeks  before  Lord  Carleton  succeeded 
in  getting  any  clue  whatever  to  the  Indian.  At 
last,  the  story  came  out.  Only  one  man  in 
Rome  had  known  him,  and  he  willingly  gave 
the  limited  information. 

It  was  in  this  wise :  It  chanced  one  day  that 
an  American  artist  was  in  Switzerland,  enjoying 
the  beauties  of  that  land,  when  standing  at  the 
foot  of  a  mountain,  he  saw  an  Indian  descending. 
The  artist,  wonderstruck,  cried  aloud — "  Ye  gods ! 
are  ye  come  to  visit  the  earth  once  more?  " 

The  Indian  slowly  descended.     He  seemed  in 


264  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

harmony  with  the  universe  and  moved  with  the 
rhythm  of  the  stars. 

The  artist  approached  him.  Garangula  looked 
at  him  a  moment,  then  said:  "Let  thou  and 
Garangula  journey  together.  The  Great  Spirit 
wills  it." 

The  man  felt  half  afraid  of  so  strange  a 
character,  but  his  love  of  beauty  overcame,  and 
the  two  journeyed  to  the  Eternal  City. 

The  artist,  who  was  a  sculptor,  asked  Garan 
gula  to  sit  for  him. 

The  Indian  replied:  "The  great  Manito  wills 
that  Garangula  sit  for  thee." 

Day  after  day  the  sculptor  worked,  Garangula 
watching  him  with  much  interest,  and  while  he 
watched,  all  his  love  of  beauty  seemed  near  its 
unfoldment.  At  times,  his  face  swept  out  of  its 
calm  repose ;  there  was  a  curious  working  of  the 
muscles,  and  he  murmured  incoherently  in  the 
Indian  language — "The  Great  Spirit  is  near — 
Garangula  will  know." 

The  sculptor  was  one  of  the  artists  who  are 
slaves  to  their  emotions.  He  often  let  the 
clay  fall  from  his  hands  and  sat  dreaming  of 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  265 

the  great  heroic  action  lie  would  reproduce  in 
marble. 

Both  the  artist  and  the  Indian  grew  by  the 
association,  although  in  a  different  way. 

The  Indian  had  a  propitious  environment.  He 
was  associated  with  a  man  who  had  great  refine 
ment  of  character,  and  whose  feeling  for  art  was 
quick,  strong,  and  tender.  Above  all,  some 
would  say,  he  was  in  Rome,  the  Mecca  whither 
artists  journeyed  in  those  days  and  laid  their 
offerings.  All  places  were  Mecca  to  Garangula. 
He  left  offerings  everywhere — if  holy  thoughts 
be  prayers.  Perhaps  the  holiest  of  these  he 
gave  to  the  sculptor's  studio,  which  was  an 
"idealization  realized." 

This  studio  was  in  the  southwest  corner  of  the 
ruins  of  the  Diocletian  Baths.  The  Thermce  of 
Diocletian,  from  which  the  piazza  took  its  name, 
were  once  the  largest  in  Rome.  It  is  said  the 
work  of  these  great  baths  was  done  by  con 
demned  Christians,  who,  as  they  wrought,  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross  on  the  bricks.  The  cross 
is  still  to  be  seen  as  the  bricks  fall  from  the 
ruins.  Perhaps  the  thoughts  of  the  Christian 


266  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

martyrs  hovered  about  the  plaintive  memorial 
of  their  faith,  and  still  lingered  among  the 
ruins.  It  may  be  the  harmony  in  the  studio 
was  partly  due  to  this  influence.  Vines  grew 
among  the  ruins,  finding  their  way  into  every 
crevice,  and  falling  down  the  sides  of  the  build 
ing,  concealed  an  arch  above  a  flight  of  steps 
that  led  to  a  landing,  this  being  enclosed  by 
trelliswork  and  covered  with  vines.  Pigeons 
flew  in  and  out  cooing  softly. 

But  for  the  flight  of  steps  and  the  landing,  the 
ruins  would  have  appeared  unoccupied — so  still 
and  so  peaceful  were  they.  Standing  by  the 
fountain,  with  the  sunlight  falling  around,  the 
soft  sky  overhead,  the  memory  of  the  cross  — 
one  unconsciously  breathed  a  prayer. 

These  notes  of  beauty  were  only  a  foreshadow 
ing  of  the  music  within,  a  prelude  to  be  heard 
while  ascending  the  steps.  An  arched  door 
opened  into  a  circular  room,  so  solid  and  massive, 
it  looked  as  if  it  had  been  hewn  out  of  a  gigantic 
rock. 

From  three  points  of  the  room  vines  ran  up 
and  twined  around  an  odd  candelabrum,  making 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  267 

a  picturesque  effect.  On  the  walls,  were  pictures 
without  frames,  so  arranged  that  at  a  distance 
they  seemed  wonderful  frescoes.  A  portrait  bust 
or  two  in  marble — but  one  closed  his  eyes  and 
said:  "Let  me  feel — I  wish  to  see  nothing 
more." 

All  was  silent.  The  hum  of  the  city  did  not 
reach  there,  save  as  something  afar  off,  in  which 
they  had  no  part.  Sweet  incense  from  the  past 
floated  in  through  the  one  window  that  looked 
out  on  Rome,  and  brought  an  influence  of  hope 
and  faith. 

The  bronze  figure  of  Homer  sat  reading  on 
the  sands,  taking  thoughts  back  to  the  old 
Homeric  days.  Leaving  this  place,  one  went 
out  into  the  world  better  than  when  he  entered; 
better,  because  he  knew  the  ideal  could  be 
realized.  That  was  the  key-note  of  the  harmony. 

This  was  Garangula's  home.  He  refused  to 
share  the  artist's  apartments  in  the  suburbs. 
At  night,  he  slept  on  the  stone  floor  over  which 
rugs  were  thrown,  or  when  the  weather  was 
warm  he  stayed  on  the  landing. 

Thither  Garangula  was  led  after  his  two 
years'  sojourn  among  the  mountains  of  Switzer 
land. 


CHAPTER  FORTY-FIFTH. 


S3s  SSabel's  streams  we  sat  ano  wept, 
got  memory  still  to  Zion  clung; 

Ube  winos  alone  our  barpsstrings  swept, 
Uhat  on  tbe  orooping  willows  bung." 

psalms  137.    U2. 


WHEN  Garangula  left  tlie  grave  of  Zulona's 
child,  lie  journeyed  far  to  the  land  of  the  Swiss, 
and  stayed  in  the  "  forests  " — thus  he  called  the 
mountains  of  Switzerland.  "Garangula  went 
on  from  these  woods,"  he  said,  "till  he  came 
to  lakes  of  beauty;  beyond  were  the  hills. 
The  first  at  which  Garangula  tarried,  reminded 
him  of  the  home  of  his  forefathers.  While 
there,  he  found  the  rocky  side  of  a  hill  on  which 
a  great  lion  was  cut." 

"Lucerne!"  exclaimed  the  sculptor. 

"Garangula  felt  strange  as  he  looked  at  the 


SHK  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  269 

lion  cut  in  the  rock.  He  trembled  and  rushed 
away,  crying :  '  Garangula  must  find  that  which 
he  has  lost.1 

"He  went  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain  where 
he  lingered  many  months,  sleeping  on  the 
ground,  watching  the  lamp  of  the  Great  Spirit 
by  night,  and  the  clouds,  the  sky,  and  the  sun 
light  by  day. 

"Once  a  storm  raged  among  the  hills  and 
swept  through  the  valleys,  the  fire  of  the  Great 
Spirit  sped  in  and  out  of  the  blackness.  Noises, 
greater  than  thunder,  echoed  and  gathered  in 
strength  till  they  seemed  to  unite  in  one  mighty 
cry  to  the  Great  Spirit.  Garangula  bared  his 
head,  drew  his  mantle  from  his  breast,  and  cried 
out. 

"Then  all  grew  still.  Garangula  listened 
and  felt  the  Great  Spirit  heard  his  voice. 

"One  day  when  he  was  by  the  waters  that 
surrounded  long  points  of  the  forest,  he  saw 
many  people  coming  up  in  canoes.  They 
walked  into  a  chapel  near,  and  knelt.  Garan 
gula  did  not  know  what  it  meant.  They 
told  him  it  was  Easter  Sunday.  Then  he 


270  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

remembered  the  Lamp  had  hung  in  the  sky 
twelve  times  since  he  and  the  English  lord 
heard  music  on  a  day  they  called  Kaster.  The 
Indian  went  in  and  knelt. 

UA  long  time  Garangula  wandered.  The 
hills  and  jagged  rocks  towered  above  him, 
solemn  and  grand.  Garangula  walked  with 
bared  head  always. 

"He  came  to  a  lake  shaped  like  the  Lamp 
looks  when  it  has  not  hung  long.  He  went  on 
to  a  stream  whose  waters  were  blue  as  the  sky. 
It  was  night — still  Garangula  walked,  always  by 
the  water's  edge.  Many  days  he  spent  going 
up  and  down  this  stream.  One  night  he  saw 
lights  shining  on  the  water  and  in  the  dis 
tance  a  village.  Garangula  went  there  but  did 
not  tarry,  he  could  not  stay  from  the  forests. 
Bach  morning  Garangula  felt  the  Great  Spirit 
led  him  to  the  hills,  the  blue  waters,  and  he 
journeyed  till  he  came  to  a  great  valley. 
Above  him  rose  the  Everlasting  Hill.  He  went 
up  rugged  places,  through  the  clouds.  At  last 
he  was  above  them,  and  the  sun  looked  down 
where  the  white  winds  had  fallen  to  rest. 


SHE  OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  271 

"  Garangula  felt  he  was  in  the  abode  of  the 
Great  Spirit.  He  took  off  his  sandals  and  stood 
still.  Night  came  on — the  Lamp  hung  out  full 
and  round.  The  Indian  lay  down  on  his  face 
and  slept.  When  the  great  morning  was  come 
Garangula  awoke.  She  of  the  Holy  Light  stood 
before  him.  She  looked  toward  the  valley,  and 
said :  *  Go  thy  way  thither ;  thou  wilt  know ! '" 


CHAPTER  FORTY-SIXTH. 


Hnt>  unto  whatsoever  bouse  ^c  enter,  sa\: '  peace 
be  to  tbis  bouse.'  " 

Xufce  to.    5. 


THE  sculptor  wished  to  study  his  model.  To 
do  this,  he  took  Garangula  to  places  he  thought 
would  move  him.  He  desired  the  Indian  to  see 
the  best  architecture  and  sculpture,  hoping  it 
would  help  him  as  well  as  Garangula.  He 
builded  wiser  than  he  knew. 

One  day,  after  successful  effort,  the  sculptor 
said:  "No  more  work;  let  us  to  the  Pantheon." 

They  passed  the  fountain,  crossed  via  Nazi- 
onale,  and  went  down  narrow  streets  amid  dirt 
and  squalor,  which  happily  one  forgets  as  he 
looks  up  at  the  soft,  blue  sky. 

Reaching    the    Capitoline    Hill,   the   Indian 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  273 

looked  at  the  equestrian  statue  of  Marcus 
Aurelius ;  lie  threw  back  his  head ;  his  nostrils 
dilated — a  just  tribute — the  grand  old  Emperor 
seemed  to  respond ;  his  imperial  air  heightened, 
and  one  felt  the  noble  steed  might  leap  down  the 
steps  and  meet  the  barbarian  with  a  neigh. 

To  most  people,  Rome  was.  To  the  Indian, 
Rome  is.  The  spirit  of  poetry  and  beauty  still 
lingers,  is  reflected  from  the  sky,  envelops  the 
Alban  Hills,  and  soars  to  the  snowcapped  moun 
tains,  conies  back  and  whispers  to  him — "  I  was — 
I  will  be  forever." 

The  Indian  cannot  revel  in  the  past  of  bloody 
Rome.  If  there  be  thoughts  of  the  monsters  of 
that  period  still  hovering  about  the  Seven  Hills, 
he  does  not  attract  them.  Furthermore,  this 
savage,  like  many  another  less  ignorant  and  less 
holy,  has  perceptions  there — he  knows  not  how 
or  why,  and  the  very  beauty  consists  in  their 
being  beyond  analysis.  It  may  be  it  is  always 
so  of  the  Spirit  of  Beauty,  but  one  feels  it  more 
in  Rome  than  elsewhere. 

The  majesty  of  the  Pantheon  rose  before 
them.  Through  the  blackened  columns  of  the 


274  SHE   OF  THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

portico,  the  Indian  saw  the  beauty  and  dignity 
within.     He  bowed  His  head  and  entered. 

The  sculptor  followed  curiously.  A  ceremony 
was  taking  place — an  anniversary  of  the  death 
of  a  potentate.  A  light  falling  from  quaint 
holders  filled  with  spirits,  whose  effect  was  not 
dispelled  by  the  thousand  candles  that  flamed 
and  burned — the  music,  soft,  low,  and  solemn, 
priests  chanting  the  mass,  the  statues  of  saints 
looking  down  from  their  niches  between  Corin 
thian  columns — all  spoke  to  the  Indian. 

The  last  notes  of  the  music  grew  softer  and 
softer,  the  echoes  came  back  through  the  centre 
of  the  dome  and  mingled  with  the  sunshine, 
then  died  away.  The  people  passed  through 
the  great  doorway.  All  was  still.  The  Indian 
moved  where  the  catafalque  had  stood.  He  took 
off  his  turban,  and  looked  up  at  the  heavens, 
and  said:  "Until  now  the  Indian  doubted 
if  the  Great  Manitou  ever  dwelt  in  a  temple 
made  by  man.  Mother,"  his  face  was  that  of  a 
little  child,  "Mother,  let  Garangula  hear  thy 
voice ;  he  believes  thou  art  looking  down  on  him 
now.  Speak  to  thy  child." 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  275 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  listened ;  clouds  drifted 
over  the  opening,  the  light  touched  his  head. 

The  sculptor  gazed  in  wonder  on  his  strange 
model  from  whom  he  could  learn  nothing,  save 
that  he  belonged  to  the  race  of  red  men,  and 
had  come  across  the  sea. 

Softly  stepping  over  the  green  moss  on  the  old 
stones,  Garangula  went  to  the  tomb  of  Raphael, 
and  spelled  the  word  that  had  no  meaning  to 
him.  He  slowly  moved  around  the  room,  stop 
ping  before  some  stately  altar.  At  last,  he  was  by 
the  doorway,  speaking  softly  in  the  Indian  lan 
guage.  When  outside  the  gates,  the  Indian 
looked  back. 

"Tell  Garangula  of  the  people  who  built  the 
Temple." 

The  sculptor,  led  by  a  fancy,  wove  romance 
with  the  truth.  But  Garangula  was  unmoved, 
and  shook  his  head.  Then  the  sculptor  told 
him  the  true  history  of  the  Pantheon — that 
it  was  built  by  the  pagans — thinking  the  Indian 
would  not  comprehend,  he  said  "savages." 

Garangula  replied:  "The  Indian  has  often 
wondered  the  difference  between  the  white  man 
and  the  savage.  Now  he  knows." 


CHAPTER  FORTY-SEVENTH. 


"Erccpt  tbc  Xort>  built)  the  bouse,  tbe$  labour  in 
vain  tbat  builfc  it." 

psalm  crrvii,    I. 


GARANGULA  and  the  sculptor  walked  in  si 
lence  from  the  Pantheon  till  they  came  to  a 
dingy,  little  restaurant.  Garangula  ate  little; 
he  sat  listening  to  the  soft,  Italian  language. 

From  the  restaurant,  the  sculptor  took  Garan 
gula  to  the  Fountain  of  Trevi,  the  most  beautiful 
in  the  world,  despite  its  absurd  sculpturing  in 
marble,  intended  for  a  design.  Truly  Bernini's 
school  sent  forth  disciples  who  perpetuated 
follies  in  marble,  yet  one  forgives  them  as  he 
stands  beside  the  Fountain  of  Trevi  to-night. 

The  Lamp  of  the  Great  Spirit  lighted  the 
dim  and  narrow  streets  of  the  Imperial  City; 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  277 

it  made  a  fairy's  home  of  the  Palace  of  the 
Caesars,  flooded  the  Forum,  and  kissed  the  snowy 
fountain. 

The  Indian  knelt  and  played  with  the  waters. 
The  sculptor  told  him  the  legends  connected 
with  the  wonderful  fountain.  The  Indian  lis 
tened  while  he  looked  at  the  palace  front,  and 
wondered  where  the  water  came  from;  looked 
down  at  old  Neptune,  at  the  Tritons  piping  their 
wreathed  horns,  at  the  heaps  of  broken  rock,  the 
hundred  jets  that  dashed  over  all. 

"O  child  of  the  woods,"  he  mournfully  said, 
"the  Indian  is  sorry  for  thee." 

"Why  should  you  be  sorry?"  asked  the 
sculptor. 

"Listen!  It  sighs!  Come  with  Garangula. 
He  will  lead  thee  back  to  the  woods  and  rocks 
and  thou  wilt  sing  there  all  the  days,  with  no 
sadness  in  thy  music  —  glad  to  be  with  thy 
mother." 

"We  must  lose  something  for  everything  we 
gain,"  said  the  sculptor.  "It  is  the  law.  Mill 
ions  of  people  have  rhapsodized  over  this  fountain 


278  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

here,  whereas  it  would  have  been  known  only  to 
birds  and  beasts  had  it  stayed  at  home." 

Garangula  made  no  answer. 

As   they  left   the    fountain,   the    shadow  of 
Mazaro  fell  across  the  waters. 

The  next  day,  when  working  hours  were  over, 
the  artist  took  Garangula  to  the  sculpture  gal 
lery  at  the  Capitol.  They  walked  down  the 
long  hall  looking  at  the  statues  on  either  side, 
Garangula  lingering  in  front  of  a  small  bust  of 
Cleopatra,  which  impressed  him  as  bearing  a  close 
resemblance  to  Zulona.  It  was  almost  like  see 
ing  her;  he  would  leave  it,  look  back,  then 
return.  But  nothing  moved  him  deeply  till  he 
reached  the  room  containing  the  Dying  Gladi 
ator.  As  he  stood  before  this,  he  trembled,  his 
breast  heaved ;  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes  when 
he  raised  his  head  and  looked  toward  the  door  at 
the  Faun  of  Praxitiles — the  effect  was  magical — 
soon  he  was  standing  in  front  of  it,  making  a 
low,  staccato  sound  that  did  not  surprise  the 
sculptor  as  much  as  it  would  have  Lord  Carleton, 
who  had  never  known  him  to  laugh. 

Then  he  turned  to  the  figure  of  a  little  child  on 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  279 

the  right  of  the  faun.  It  had  a  sweet,  innocent 
expression,  and  held  a  dove  to  its  bosom.  A 
snake  was  winding  around  the  head  of  the  child. 
The  Indian  looked  long  and  earnestly  at  the 
symbol  of  the  "Human  Soul,"  then  glided 
swiftly  down  the  stairway,  leaving  the  bewil 
dered  sculptor  alone. 

Following,  he  found  him  standing  on  the  hill, 
Piazza  Campidoglio  His  eyes  looked  beyond 
the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo,  St.  Peter's,  the  Tiber 
winding  its  way  among  the  thousand  memories 
of  the  past.  The  Indian  saw  them  not — he  was 
among  the  hills,  in  the  clouds,  and  his  face 
grew  peaceful  again. 

Life  in  Rome  seems  so  unreal,  the  most  com 
monplace  dreamer  finds  himself  caught  up  in 
the  heavens,  going  away,  he  knows  not  whither, 
or  cares ;  he  loses  all  identity  with  this  life.  It 
would  be  easier  to  live,  love,  and  die  in  Rome 
than  elsewhere. 

The  sculptor  and  Garangula  slowly  walked 
from  the  Coliseum,  under  the  Arch  of  Titus,  the 
design  of  which  was  curiously  examined  by  the 
Indian.  They  might  have  been  in  a  desert — so 


280  SHE  OF  THE   HOLY  LIGHT. 

alone  they  were,  so  isolated  the  ruins  —  a  few 
broken  columns,  a  heap  of  stone — the  monu 
ments  of  a  glory  forever  past,  and  so  unrelated 
to  Now,  that  when  a  military  band  played  a 
national  air  on  the  Campagna,  the  Indian  shiv 
ered,  and  said:  "The  music  is  strange." 

From  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars  they  strolled 
idly  along  to  the  Forum,  where  they  sat  down  on 
the  broad  stone  steps.  The  music  of  the  band 
grew  fainter,  till  all  was  silence  in  the  ruins. 
Finally,  the  sculptor  tired  of  dreaming,  touched 
his  companion. 

Garangula  looked  at  him,  and  said:  "The 
Indian  is  not  here." 


CHAPTER  FORTY-EIGHTH. 


'Xlngele  anb  ministers  of  grace  t>efent>  us. 
Sbafcespeare 


GARANGULA  showed  no  interest  as  they 
walked  through  the  Borghese  Gallery,  filled 
with  statues,  life-size,  and  portrait  busts — all 
from  hands  that  the  world  holds  sacred.  The 
sculptor  stopped  before  Canova's  Venus,  hoping 
that  would  arouse  him — the  Indian  looked  at 
the  reclining  figure,  but  said  nothing.  The 
sculptor  thought,  "  After  all,  perhaps  I  am  mis 
taken  in  his  appreciation." 

The  Indian  felt  the  thought,  and  hastened  to 
remedy  any  seeming  rudeness. 

"Nay,  do  not  be  disappointed  in  Garangula, 
the  Indian ;  he  is  only  a  child  of  nature.  The 


282  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

influences  in  the  forest,"  and  lie  looked  at  the 
grounds  of  the  Villa  Borghese,  "  are  clinging  to 
him  still.  Garangula  sees  nothing  in  these 
to-day." 

"What  influences?"  asked  the  sculptor,  try 
ing  to  conceal  his  annoyance. 

"At  first,  Garangula  felt  the  joyousness  of 
the  woods,  then  as  he  walked  under  the  trees,  it 
seemed  as  if  he  had  been  there  before,  that  he 
belonged  to  that  time,  and  he  was  here  now  in 
a  dream." 

The  sculptor  looked  at  him  with  doubt.  *  Per 
haps  Raphael's  spirit  kept  you  company,"  said 
he,  smiling.  "He  used  to  walk  in  the  early 
mornings  under  those  ilex  trees." 

"Who  was  Raphael?" 

The  question  and  interest  were  so  unfeigned, 
the  sculptor  was  in  a  good  humor  at  once — the 
very  novelty  interested  him. 

"Come,  we  will  walk  along  the  paths  he  used 
to  stroll,  while  I  tell  you  of  the  divine  artist." 

Garangula' s  face  glowed  as  he  listened.  They 
walked  down  the  slope  of  the  hill,  crossed  a  riv_ 
ulet  that  ran  softly  by  the  old  trees,  too  modest 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY   LIGHT.  283 

to  sing  with  the  fountains.  Once,  when  much 
moved  the  Indian  knelt  and  plucked  a  wildflower 
from  the  hillside,  and  placed  it  in  his  bosom. 
The  sculptor  talked  earnestly.  From  the  Porta 
del  Popolo  they  went  to  the  Pincian  Hill,  where 
Garangula  examined  the  marble  busts  of  great 
men,  hoping  to  find  Raphael's.  The  band  was 
playing  on  the  Pincio,  but  Garangula  heeded  it 
not. 

Before  leaving  London,  Lord  Carleton  took 
him  to  the  opera  several  weeks  in  succession. 
The  Englishman  had  never  been  so  pleased  with 
his  protege ;  his  exquisite  delight,  his  soul  speak 
ing  through  his  eyes  as  he  listened,  impressed 
Lord  Carleton  anew  with  his  poetic  nature. 
Once,  in  the  midst  of  an  opera,  the  Indian 
turned  to  him,  and  said:  "Garangula  hears  the 
echoes  of  the  Great  Spirit's  voice  above  the 
music.  There!"  and  he  listened  with  an  in 
tensity  that  was  almost  a  pain,  "The  voice  is 
with  the  music ! " 

But  he  heard  not  the  band  on  the  Pincio, 
neither  did  he  hear  the  sculptor  talking  as  they 
walked  to  the  foot  of  the  Hill,  where  they  sepa- 


284  SHE  OF  THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

rated  for  the  night — the  sculptor  going  to  his 
chambers,  the  Indian  returning  to  the  studio 
where  he  lay  on  the  landing  till  far  into  the 
night,  thinking  of  the  divine  artist. 

The  sculptor  went  with  the  Indian  to  all  of 
the  galleries  in  the  old  palaces — the  Kircheriano, 
the  Colonna,  the  Sciarra,  Tirlonia  Tabulariuin, 
the  Corsini,  the  Vatican,  and  others.  These 
visits  were  interspersed  with  walks  on  the  Cam- 
pagna  and  drives  beyond  Rome.  The  drives  in 
the  country  where  all  things  spoke  of  the  past, 
even  more  than  in  Rome,  impressed  the  Indian 
as  did  the  Borghese  grounds — he  felt  related 
to  the  ruins;  peculiarly  was  this  true  of  the 
Appian  Way. 

As  he  looked  up  at  the  sky,  the  clouds  the 
angels  came  down  to  paint — the  tombs  by  the 
wayside,  he  seemed  to  remember  something  that 
grew  more  and  more  mysterious. 

This  sight-seeing  had  occupied  nearly  nine 
months,  the  sculptor  reserving  the  Vatican  for 
the  last,  and  when  the  time  came,  he  was  eager 
to  go  to  that  wonderful  palace  of  art. 

Passing  by  the  Portone  di  Bronze  by  the  right 


SHE  OF   THE  HOLY   LIGHT.  285 

colonnade  of  the  Piazza  of  St.  Peter,  the  Swiss 
guard  conducted  them  to  the  Maggiordomato  to 
receive  their  permesso.  The  Indian  was  much 
interested  in  the  costume  of  the  guard;  each 
looked  at  the  other's  dress,  and  with  evident 
admiration.  Garangula's  dress  drew  but  slight 
attention  in  Rome,  where  congregate  so  many 
nationalities.  Many  supposed  he  belonged  to 
the  Forestieri,  dressed  in  a  picturesque  garb  to 
attract  artists. 

They  went  up  to  the  Sc&la  Regia,  the  long 
flight  of  stairs  unheeded  by  the  Indian,  who 
studied  the  tunnel  vaulting  overhead  as  he 
walked  lightly,  then  turned  to  a  side  entrance 
that  led  to  the  Sistine  Chapel.  The  sculptor 
was  little  rewarded  here.  Michael  Angelo's 
frescoes  on  the  ceiling  that  have  been  famed  for 
more  than  three  centuries,  had  no  meaning  to 
the  Indian.  He  could  in  no  wise  comprehend 
God  Almighty  in  the  air,  separating  light  from 
darkness;  neither  could  he  understand  the 
Demon  and  the  various  characters  between  the 
Creation  and  the  Last  Judgment.  To  this  In 
dian,  there  had  never  been  any  darkness  or 


286  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

devil.  He  looked  at  first  with  some  interest, 
but  the  confusion  of  it  all  grew  more  and  more 
hopeless. 

It  was  pleasant  to  observe  that  when  the 
Indian  could  not  comprehend  a  thing,  he  did 
not  criticise  it,  or  feel  disturbed  that  he  saw  no 
beauty. 

As  the  Indian  left  the  Chapel,  the  sculptor 
smiled,  remembering  his  own  boyhood  days 
in  the  old  home,  where  he  was  taught  to 
adore  Michael  Angelo,  and  led  to  believe  there 
could  not  by  any  possibility,  ever  be  another  so 
gifted.  He  had  worshiped  him  during  all  the 
years  from  the  time  he  named  his  pet  dogs  for 
the  old  master,  till  he  dreamed  of  living  in  the 
same  land  that  gave  him  birth ;  when  he  would 
receive  his  highest  inspiration  standing  in  this 
chapel.  The  sculptor  had  passed  through  the 
many  stages  others  have  done,  had  his  altars 
torn  down,  leaving  but  a  cold,  dead  feeling  that 
no  enthusiasm  in  after  years  can  revive — so  one 
thinks  at  the  time,  till  he  takes  heart  to  look  at 
the  best  this  great  man  has  done,  studies  his 
life,  the  history  of  the  times  in  which  he  lived, 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  287 

all  lie  had  to  contend  with — then  the  painter, 
sculptor,  poet,  is  given  a  place  not  so  high,  per 
haps,  still  above  many  others. 

They  were  before  Raphael's  Transfiguration — 
Garangula  looked  at  the  One  face  in  the  picture 
with  an  expression  the  sculptor  could  not  wholly 
understand,  but  when  his  eyes  wandered  from 
this  to  the  others,  the  look  changed  to  disgust 
and  horror  —  he  turned  quickly  away.  The 
sculptor  was  at  first  astonished,  then  his  face 
broke  into  a  smile  followed  by  a  laugh  which 
the  Indian  did  not  hear. 

When  they  entered  Raphaels  Stanze,  the 
bearing  of  the  Indian  changed. 

Long  after,  his  companion  recalled  with  de 
light  Garangula's  appreciation  in  the  Vatican, 
also  when  they  went  to  see  the  picture  of 
"Sacred  and  Profane  Love." 

The  sculptor  led  the  way  to  Titian's  picture, 
and  told  the  Indian  its  title,  then  asked  with 
much  curiosity — "Which  do  you  think  is  the 
Sacred  Love?"  , 

"Garangula  knows  not  what  thou  dost  mean 
by  'profane  love',  but  this  one  belongs  to 


288  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

the  Happy  Hunting-Grounds,  and  is  here  on  a 
sojourn  to  let  us  know  what  beautiful  love  is 
there,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  figure  represent 
ing  Sacred  Love. 

Titian  stole  the  colors  of  heaven  for  this  pic 
ture,  and  the  brush  was  dipped  in  the  Celestial 
Fire,  to  paint  the  nude  figure  of  Sacred  Love. 
If,  by  chance,  one  glance  from  this  to  the  nude 
figures  by  other  artists,  he  turns  and  leaves  the 
room,  lest  the  impression  of  "  Sacred  and  Profane 
Love"  be  effaced  by  hideous  realism  in  form  and 
color.  Reaching  the  door,  he  looks  back  at 
Titian's  picture,  with  a  half-uttered  prayer  that 
its  memory  will  go  with  him  through  life,  throw 
ing  a  halo  of  sanctity  over  all  his  thoughts. 

"Sacred  Love"  though  nude,  is  clothed  in 
Immortality.  "Profane  Love"  is  draped,  but 
buffalo  robes  would  not  hide  its  nakedness. 


CHAPTER  FORTY-NINTH. 


"Ha  fragrant  incense  on  tbe  air, 
So  mount  to  bcaven  mg  carlt  prater ; 
Knb  let  ms  banl>8  upltftefc  be. 
Ha  evening  sacrifice  to  tbee." 
psalms. 


IT  was  in  the  sculpture  gallery  of  the  Vatican. 
They  glanced  hastily  at  the  collection  of  antiqui 
ties,  passing  to  the  room  containing  sculpture, 
on  to  the  Cortile  del  Belvedere.  The  Indian 
smiled  sympathetically  at  the  Molossian  Hounds 
that  mark  the  entrance  to  this  octagonal  court, 
and  stopped  before  the  famous  group  of  the 
Laocoon — but  his  face  bore  a  look  of  pain  that 
did  not  vanish  till  he  reached  the  second  corner 
of  the  cabinet,  where  a  wonderful  transformation 
took  place. 

The    sculptor   remained    behind   looking    at 


290  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

some  dancing  figures.  It  was  not  a  free  day  in 
the  Vatican,  besides,  it  was  a  gloomy  one  for 
that  place,  and  there  was  no  one  near  when  the 
Indian  entered  the  cabinet  of  Apollo  Belvedere. 

Motionless  he  gazed  at  that  superb  work  of 
art,  of  which  Winckelmann  says:  "At  the 
aspect  of  the  Belvedere  Apollo,  I  forget  all  the 
universe.  I  involuntarily  assume  the  most 
noble  attributes  of  my  being  in  order  to  be 
worthy  of  its  presence."  The  Indian  took  off 
his  turban,  raised  his  head  loftily,  folded  his 
arms  high  on  his  breast.  Then  he  walked  to 
the  side  of  the  pedestal  and  took  the  attitude  of 
Apollo.  He  was  poised,  ready  to  step  forward 
with  all  the  agility  that  belongs  to  the  native 
Indian,  his  arm  in  the  attitude  of  holding  the 
aegis ;  he  looked  the  god. 

Standing  there,  looking  up  at  Apollo,  the 
divine  expressed  itself.  Flinging  aside  his  robe, 
he  stepped  in  front  of  the  statue  and  improvised 
in  such  rapid  succession,  the  sculptor,  who  had 
approached  unseen,  was  bewildered  at  the  transi 
tion  he  made  from  one  pose  to  another,  the 
meaning  of  which  was  felt  rather  than  under 
stood. 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  291 

The  sculptor  thought :  "Is  lie  mad?  I  have 
at  times  almost  believed  lie  might  be." 

But  as  lie  watched  the  perfect  representation, 
he  smiled  with  chagrin,  and  said:  "My  model  is 
a  great  man  in  disguise.  How  amused  he  must 
have  been  at  my  patronizing  air  over  his  sup 
posed  ignorance !  I  remember  many  things  he 
said  that  I  would  not  then  understand,  but  his 
simplicity  soon  banished  this;  and  it  is  the 
memory  of  that  simplicity  which  puzzles  me 
now.  I  thought  the  gods  had  returned  to  earth 
when  first  I  saw  him — I  know  it  now!  I  am 
transported  to  the  shades  of  Olympus  and  be 
hold  the  gods." 

The  Indian's  motion  changed.  He  related 
and  connected  scenes  from  the  Greek  tragedies, 
at  least,  so  they  appeared  to  the  sculptor. 

"Ye  gods!"  he  cried.  "What  conception! 
What  dignity !  What  grandeur  I  What  poetry ! 
For  the  first  time  I  know  the  full  meaning  of 
that  quotation — 'Tragedy,  majestic  tragedy,  is 
worthy  to  stand  before  the  sanctuary  of  Truth, 
and  to  be  held  priestess  of  her  oracles.'  A  flood 
of  light  illuminates  all  art ! " 


292  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

The  sculptor's  dreaming  was  forgotten.  Art 
became  a  living,  breathing  Truth  to  him,  and 
this  feeling  created  a  resolution  that  set  his 
whole  being  afire. 

The  Indian  was  lost  in  the  poet,  and  a  divinity 
enveloped  him.  These  improvisations  glided 
on  imperceptibly  at  first,  into  something  the 
sculptor  could  not  describe,  save  they  brought 
thoughts  of  "Sacrec1  Love." 

"Above  Garangula's  head,"  the  sculptor  after 
ward  said,  "  I  saw  that  figure  float  and  look  down 
upon  him.  Garangula's  face  shone  with  a  light 
not  of  this  world.  He  seemed  looking  into  the 
'  Happy  Hunting-Grounds '.  '  Transfiguration ! ' 
I  exclaimed.  What  influenced  me  I  knew  not, 
neither  do  I  know  what  next  transpired — the  one 
thing  I  remember  is,  that  after  a  time  I  raised  my 
head  and  found  myself  kneeling  alone.  I  arose 
and  walked  humbly  down  the  flight  of  steps, 
passed  the  Vatican  Gardens,  and  reached  St. 
Peter's  Square,  where  I  found  the  sun  shining 
through  the  clouds,  and  saw  Garangula  standing 
near  the  great  obelisk,  looking  at  the  rainbow 
on  the  fountain." 


CHAPTER  FIFTIETH. 


1 Bn6  tben,  wbat's  brave,  wbat'a  noble, 

let's  oo  it  after  tbe  Wgb  IRoman  fashion," 

Sbafccspcarc. 


THE  next  day  there  was  an  air  of  work  in  the 
studio ;  sketches  hastily  done  were  scattered  on 
the  table,  bits  of  clay  lay  on  the  floor,  a  plaster 
cast,  an  unfinished  bust  or  two,  and  a  block  of 
marble  on  the  landing. 

This  continued  for  many  weeks,  the  sculptor 
rarely  taking  rest  till  evening.  Garangula 
watched  his  work,  asking  many  questions;  he 
was  deeply  interested  in  the  bronze  statue  of 
Homer — the  different  processes  which  it  had 
undergone,  from  the  first  rough  sketch  to  the 
embodiment  it  now  was.  The  sculptor  took 
pleasure  in  explaining  to  him  the  details,  often 
illustrating  from  the  object. 


294  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

He  worked  on,  never  satisfied — lie  had  seen 
Garangula  in  the  attitudes  at  the  Vatican.  The 
Indian  remembered  them  vaguely.  Had  the 
sculptor  been  an  artist  in  its  broadest  sense — 
having  an  understanding  of  the  divine,  the  In 
dian  would  have  given  him  yet  higher  expression 
than  that  in  the  Vatican,  for  Garangula  wrought 
from  the  soul. 

One  day  after  continued  effort,  the  sculptor 
said,  "I  am  very  tired,  Garangula — let  us  rest; 
I  am  discouraged  as  well,"  and  the  two  left  the 
studio  together. 

They  went  to  the  grounds  of  the  Colonna 
Palace,  and  found  themselves  alone.  The  quiet 
walks,  bordered  with  flowers,  the  birds  singing, 
the  peaceful  company  of  the  Indian,  soon  re 
stored  the  sculptor's  habitual  frame  of  mind. 

"  Let  us  go  into  the  gallery,"  at  length  he  said; 
"  I  wish  you  to  see  a  portrait  of  Vittoria  Colonna, 
and  when  we  return,  I  will  tell  you  a  story." 

The  dear  little  face  of  Vittoria,  taken  when 
three  or  four  years  old,  peeps  out  from  a  quaint 
cap  and  rich  old-fashioned  dress;  the  child-like 
simplicity  is  so  true,  one  expects  it  to  step  from 


SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  295 

the  frame  and  put  up  its  rosy  lips  to  be  kissed. 
This  was  so  real  to  the  Indian  that  he  looked 
back,  and  said:  "Garangula  loves  the  little 
princess." 

"It  is  easy  to  divine  the  beautiful  woman,  so 
loved  by  the  great  master,"  replied  the  sculptor. 

Then  he  told  the  Indian  the  love-dream  of 
Michael  Angelo.  The  Indian  listened  rever 
ently — an  expression  at  once  humble  and  holy, 
came  over  his  face.  And  when  the  sculptor 
repeated  the  lines  Angelo  wrote  to  Vittoria 
Colonna,  the  Indian  bowed  his  head,  and 
answered:  "O  Love,  thou  art  very  beautiful!" 

When  they  arose  to  return,  he  said:  "Speak 
again  the  words  of  the  great  master." 

His  companion  gave  the  lines:  "As  a  stone, 
when  an  intaglio  is  cut  upon  it,  becomes  more 
precious  than  in  its  natural  state,  so  am  I  of 
greater  worth  since  your  image  has  been  graven 
on  my  heart.  When  a  sculptor  would  give  shape 
to  an  idea,  he  makes  a  mould  in  some  base 
material,  such  as  clay  or  wax;  then  he  puts  it 
into  marble  and  secures  its  immortality,  so  I,  born 
but  the  model  of  my  future  self,  have  been  re- 


296  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

formed  and  re-made  by  you,  O  lofty  and  noble 
lady,  in  more  perfect  expression." 

These  were  the  last  words  he  spoke  to  the 
Indian. 

They  had  now  reached  the  gates.  From  some 
unaccountable  impulse,  the  sculptor  clasped  the 
Indian's  hand,  and  they  separated  for  the  nighf. 


CHAPTER  FIFTY-FIRST. 


'  "Cbat  so  tbe  race  wbicb  was  to  come 
things  might  learn  ano  fenow; 
sons  unborn,  wbo  sboul5  arise, 
to  tbeir  eons  them  sbow." 

psalm  78=6 


THE  next  morning,  the  Indian  disrobed  him 
self  as  usual,  and  waited  in  the  studio.  But  the 
sculptor  came  not. 

In  searching  for  a  sketch  that  had  interested 
him  the  day  before,  Garangula  drew  aside  a 
curtain  that  concealed  a  large  mirror  extending 
to  the  floor. 

After  a  few  moments,  he  said  softly:  "Garan 
gula,  the  Indian,  is  beautiful." 

And  as  he  looked,  his  love  of  beauty,  the 
knowledge  unfolded  through  Zulona,  and  who 


298  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

shall  say  from  what  far-away  past  ?  —  swept 
nearer  and  nearer  the  surface,  until,  as  by  a 
miracle,  they  burst  in  all  their  power,  envelop 
ing  him!  He  closed  his  eyes  and  said:  "The 
Great  Spirit  is  touching  Garangula,  the  Indian ! " 

At  last,  he  opened  his  eyes,  took  up  a  chisel, 
and  said:  "Garangula  will  make  a  statue." 

He  looked  in  the  mirror  and  began  to  copy 
himself.  Then  another  thought  came — "  Garan 
gula  will  make  a  statue  of  his  forefather  bidding 
farewell  to  Tehuacana  Hills.  It  shall  be  a  memo 
rial  unto  his  mother's  people.  Their  lives  were 
beautiful.  Yes,  Garangula  will  leave  a  memo 
rial  unto  them." 

He  clothed  himself  in  skins,  dressed  as  an 
Indian  Chieftain,  and  worked  on.  When  night 
came  he  was  still  alone  in  the  studio.  The 
sculptor  returned  not  for  a  long  while.  Garan 
gula  thought  of  him  many  times,  but  was  com 
pletely  absorbed  in  his  work. 

One  day  a  man  laboriously  climbed  the  outer 
wall  of  the  Diocletian  baths  —  he  reached  the 
window  of  the  studio,  and  looked.  He  turned 
deathly  pale,  and  cried:  "Ye  powers,  help  me! 


SHE  OF  THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  299 

Garangula  is  growing  further  and  further  from 
me.  Stay  his  hand — dull  his  brain  " —  A  cloud 
of  smoke  gathered  about  Mazaro's  head ;  it  grew 
darker — his  hold  relaxed,  he  fell  to  the  ground, 
crying:  "The  circle  of  Rome  is  around  Garan 
gula." 

The  Indian  left  the  piece  of  marble  on  which 
he  began,  and  modeled  his  statues  in  clay; 
taking  them  through  the  final  stage  of  pro 
gression,  becoming  the  bronze  figures  seen  at  the 
exhibition. 

And  while  he  wrought,  he  said:  "As  a  stone 
when  an  intaglio  is  cut  upon  it,  becomes  more 
precious  than  in  its  natural  state,  so  am  I  of 
greater  worth  since  your  image  has  been  graven 
on  my  heart."  As  he  repeated  the  last  lines, 
"have  been  re-formed  and  re-made  by  you,  O 
lofty  and  noble  lady,  in  more  perfect  expression," 
a  mysterious  force  filled  the  room,  and  as  it 
increased,  Garangula  gained  in  power  of  execu 
tion. 

*          *          *          *          *          *          * 

The  time  had  come.     Garangula  looked  at  the 


300  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT. 

statues  for  the  last  time.  He  was  deeply  moved, 
but  spake  no  word. 

Taking  a  cloth,  lie  slowly  draped  them,  and 
walked  to  the  doorway,  then  turned  and  gave  a 
look  of  love.  Behold !  Above  the  bronze  figures, 
the  Mysterious  Force  had  centered.  It  filled 
his  being  with  power. 

His  spirit  inquired,  "What  is  this?" 

Then  there  appeared  a  beauteous  form. 

"It  is  GENIUS,"  was  the  answer.  "And  it 
will  be  with  you  Forever." 

And  the  beauteous  form  vanished. 

Then,  like  the  grand  Chieftain  he  had  por 
trayed,  the  Indian  went  forth  unheralded  and 
unknown. 


CHAPTER  FIFTY-SECOND. 


am  a  brotbee  to  trains  ans  a  companion  to 
3ob  30.    29. 


SOON  after  the  Indian  left  the  studio,  the 
sculptor,  pale  and  emaciated,  feebly  climbed  the 
flight  of  steps.  He  had  been  so  ill  he  had 
thought  little  about  Garangula,  but  supposed, 
without  any  reasoning,  that  he  would  be  there. 

He  was  therefore  disappointed  to  find  the 
rooms  empty.  No,  not  empty — there  were  two 
draped  figures!  He  approached  them  slowly. 
Curiously,  and  with  a  feeling  of  awe,  he  lifted 
the  drapery.  The  Indian  Chief,  standing  on 
the  brow  of  a  hill,  looked  far  away — be 
yond — into  the  land  of  which  he  had  been  dis 
possessed.  He  stood,  proud,  fearless,  and  alone, 


302  SHE   OF   THE   HOLY  LIGHT. 

his  head  thrown  haughtily  back;  his  powerful 
figure  seemed  poised  in  air,  it  was  so  far  above 
the  ignominy  that  had  been  heaped  upon  him. 

It  was  a  memorial  indeed !  Greater  than  any 
poets  have  sung — a  reminder  that  the  red  man 
who  roamed  the  forests,  was  nearer  a  god  than 
men  deemed. 

When  the  sculptor  caught  sight  of  this  statue 
so  well  wrought,  he  trembled,  and  cried:  "Who 
hath  done  this?  This  is  immortality,  and  it  is 
not  mine!  Someone  has  stolen  into  my  studio 
and  done  this  work — someone  has  robbed  me  of 
my  model!" 

Excitedly,  he  went  to  the  other  figure  and 
raised  the  veil.  It  was  the  same  form,  slightly 
bent;  the  proud  head  was  now  bowed,  and  the 
whole  figure  told  the  sad  story  that  he  was 
looking  on  Tehuacana  Hills  for  the  last  time, 
and  was  going  forth,  alone  forever. 

A  hero  conquered!  But  it  was  the  "Victory 
of  the  vanquished." 

The  sculptor  rose,  bewildered  and  faint,  then 
became  so  blind  and  dizzy  that  he  groped  for 
something  to  support  himself;  but  this  time  it 


SHE  OF   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  303 

was  not  physical  weakness  alone — Temptation 
entered  the  studio  that  had  known  such  purity 
and  peace 

Why  not  give  these  statues  to  the  world  as 
his?  The  tempter  said.  Were  they  not  in  his 
studio?  And  who  had  a  right  to  go  there  and 
work?  Besides,  who  would  know?  Could  he 
not  bring  in  the  critics,  invite  many  to  come  and 
see,  and  would  not  all  declare  they  had  seen  them 
there,  and  if  he  who  made  them,  came,  could  he 
not  easily  prove  him  an  impostor?  Even  the 
founders  could  not  testify  against  him — he 
would  say  the  man  who  went  to  them,  was 
employed  by  himself.  And  so  the  tempter 
continued. 

The  sculptor's  agitation  increased.  He  walked 
nervously  up  and  down  the  room.  At  last,  the 
fame  so  long  desired,  should  be  his !  His  dream 
ing  had  not  been  realized,  but  the  world  would 
think  so. 

He  threw  himself  on  the  ground  exhausted, 
and  said:  "I  will  wait  here  till  morning,  and 
then — well,  then  perhaps  I  will  call  the  people." 

Twilight  stole  in — the  two  bronze  figures  stood 


304  SHE  OF  THE  HOLY   LIGHT. 

solemn  and  grand  and  lonely  in  the  semi-dark 
ness.  Beside  them  lay  the  young  artist,  and 
singularly  enough,  he  had  thrown  himself 
almost  under  the  raised  foot  of  the  Indian. 

A  story  was  told  in  that  studio  in  Rome  while 
the  darkness  gathered  in.  Did  the  good  angel 
come  and  bend  over  the  tempted  one  while  he 
slept  his  troubled  sleep  ? 

When  the  first  rays  of  light  crept  through 
the  window  and  fell  on  the  bronze  figures,  the 
sculptor  looked  around  with  bewildered  air — 
arose,  and  remembered  all. 

He  looked  at  the  figures  till  the  light  grew 
stronger  and  fell  full  upon  them — then  he  cried 
out:  "No,  I  cannot  do  it!  I  shrink  from  an  act 
so  cowardly  and  ignoble.  These  grand  old 
Chieftains  inspire  me  with  a  power  I  have  not 
known.  I,  too,  will  carve  that  which  men  will 
look  upon.  O  my  goddess,  thou  hast  a  new 
charm  for  me!  I  have  a  holy  feeling  for  thee 
now!  This  is  Art!  This  is  Truth!  I  will  call 
the  people  and  tell  them  the  truth." 

That  morning  the  strange  story  was  told,  and 
the  excitement  began.  Who  was  the  artist  ?  If 


SHE   OE   THE   HOLY   LIGHT.  305 

he  would  only  come  forth,  he  should  be  crowned 
with  the  laurel,  as  in  days  of  old. 

When  Lord  Carleton  heard  all,  he  at  once 
exclaimed:  " Garangula  has  done  this  work !  I 
believed  it  when  I  first  saw  them  at  the  Exhibi 
tion —  I  have  always  known  he  was  great;  I 
must  see  him  once  more ! " 

Lord  Carleton  sought  long.     Rome  waited. 


THE    END. 


"In  tlie  Confessional" 


AND 


"THE   FOLLOWING 


A    VOLUME    OF    SHORT    STORIES 

BY 

GUSTAV  ADOLF  DANZIGER, 
Author  of  "THE  MONK  AND  THE  HANGMAN'S  DAUGHTER." 


"IN  THE  CONFESSIONAL"  and  "THE  FOLLOWING 


Is  a  collection  of  bright,  artistic,  stirring  stories, 
located  in  various  countries,  and  full  of  picturesque 
effects,  and  pathetic  and  dramatic  situations. 

They  run  the  whole  gamut  of  human  passions, 
dealing  in  tempation,  shame,  sorrow,  crime,  hap 
piness  and  reward. 


Printed  on  good  paper,  pica  type,  handsomely  engraved 
and  illuminated  cover,  in  two  colors. 

— «- PRICE,  so  CENTS 


504 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


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